The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Resurrected
by Emerald3
Summary: Some people will stop at nothing to do what they think is right, even if it means they have to raise someone from the dead. Hint Dorian. The League find themselves brought together again to stop one man from destroying the world's last chance for peace.
1. Prologue

**The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Resurrected.**

**Prologue – The Beginning Of The End**

She lay there her eyes closed in an uneasy sleep. Her blonde hair flailed around the pillow and her breathing was harsh. She frowned, in her dreams the same scene came, the man shrivelling and screaming in rage and pain then disappearing into somewhere she couldn't see.

Her eyes flashed open and she looked around the dark room. The sounds of the night filled it with the comforting and yet unnerving promise of unseen eyes watching from unseen places. The rustle of curtains, the squeaks of animals from outside and the sound of her own breathing all bonded together to make a flammable environment.

She couldn't help it. She couldn't stop it. She lay still for a minute trying to persuade herself that she wanted to go back to sleep, but she was too disturbed by her dream. She sighed in exasperation as she was deprived of her sleep for another night. Her hand reached out to a chair that stood by her bed and groped for her shawl. Eventually it caught hold of the woollen material and pulled it towards her. She sat up in bed and slipped the shawl over her shoulders. Her feet slid out of bed and she gasped as the cold air hit them. Idiotic man with his idiotic picture, how she hated it some days. She didn't know why she kept it, it was mocking her with its smile and cocky look and yet, there was something there...an unnatural flicker of life, as though the artist had captured the very soul itself. But that was stupid. Art was art and that was that.

She walked out of her room and down the hall to the landing of her house. There illuminated in the light of the moon was the very picture of the man that seemingly haunted her every step. Her hand reached out and she traced the waves of his hair with pale fingers. He was laughing at her, she could see it in his face. She should never have bought this picture, never. She couldn't have resisted though, she couldn't have stopped her hand raising that sign, it was as though she had been bewitched. Those rich brown eyes stared down at her and she looked up helplessly at them. Who was this man who had looked so handsome and yet so arrogant at the same time?

A draught swept through the dank house and she shivered. The clock near her struck two and she jumped, startled at the sound. After the chimes though came a strange emptiness, fuelling her imagination and at long last…she was sure she could hear something.

A voice hissed through the dark and her eyes widened in fear, "Free me." It said to her, "Let me live again." She shrank back in complete terror. Irrational thoughts, alien to her mind flickered through her, impulses both foolish and desirable. Who was this? Why was she still dreaming? The woman stumbled backwards, her eyes imagining the shadows of demons dancing around her. She moved back further but she hit something solid. She screamed in utter panic as she fell back over the chair that leaned against the wall and there was a loud crash complimented by the splintering of wood as they both hit the floor.

She lay on the floor her wrist throbbing with pain, unwelcome pain. It had been flung out in the hopes it would break her fall, but she felt as though she had broken the wrist instead. How very suitable. There was the sound of a door opening and another girl came out. Her dark hair was all askew as she peered out into the gloom, asking uncertainly, "Miss, is that you, Miss?"

"Yes, Rosa it's me. I seem to have fallen over. Would you be a dear and come and help me up?" After a pause and noting that the pain wasn't fading, she added as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, "I do believe I've hurt my hand."

The girl hurried over to her mistress and looked around curiously, "If you don't mind me asking, Miss, what are you doing out here at this time of night?" The girl had a right to ask. It must look a strange picture after all, a noble lady all askew on the floor with a broken chair next to her. The man in the portrait certainly appeared to see the humour in it. Then again, the man in the portrait seemed to find humour in everything. Born laughing. Died laughing. (Probably) Preserved for eternity laughing.

The servant put her hand under Rosaline's arm and gently lifted her to her feet, still looking rather puzzled having received no immediate answer. The blonde haired woman was cradling her left wrist, looking close to unusual tears, "I, I don't know Rosa," she murmured uncertainly at last, "I've been hav-ving such f-funny d-dreams." Rosaline closed her eyes, still not certain that her confusion had been lifted. Her mistress was not the superstitious kind. Yet here she was stuttering and having taken a fright all because of some dreams. Most peculiar.

Determined do to something to ease her mistress's distress, Rosaline gently prised the injured wrist from the anxious grip that clutched at it, seemingly unsure that should she let go the pain would fade and so would the reality of what was going on. The servant gazed at it and then sighed softly, "I think we'll have to put some light on Miss, I really can't see very well. The house is full of shadows and so damp, it's no wonder you tripped up over that chair. Must have slipped or something. I can have a look at the floor tomorrow if you like?"

Her mistress had grown completely fraught in the shortest space of time and Rosaline frowned in genuine concern, something had clearly frightened her and recently. She could see the tension radiating from the body in front of her, a flutter of terror growing in the chalky face. Her eyes darted around the room perceptively, there was no one there. Nothing except the odd portrait her mistress had purchased on one of her very few whims. Slowly Rosaline led her mistress back to her room and she sat her, quite forcibly, on the bed. She turned away, lighting the lamp above her mistress' bed. For a fleeting moment she thought she saw a flicker of movement from the landing. Dark eyes narrowed and then dismissed it, was probably just the shadow of something. All that mattered now was the woman on the bed.

She sat down next to her mistress, sinking into the soft covers as she took hold of the damaged hand again. She examined it closely, it had swollen slightly and there was an ugly red mark, which would form into a beautiful bruise…but nothing other than that. Quite lucky really, however, she hadn't been expecting a break. If the bone had snapped the cries of pain would be much above the occasional whimper.

"Miss, I don't know whether it would be too bold to ask," she poked tentatively, whilst rummaging around in a chest of drawers at the foot of the bed, "but what are these dreams you have about?"

"What good would it do if I told you, Rosaline?" questioned the older woman. Things had shaken her in the hall. Another state had come over her. A state she had felt before only when she slept. Alien and cold but there was always something there. Like sinking into a pool of wonderfully warm water but knowing another strange presence was making the ripples you saw.

"Well, it's just I've heard that if you share your nightmares they become less frightening," bartered the servant carefully, taking advantage for better or worse of the confused state her Lady was in, "Your hand, by the way, isn't too badly hurt, I know you probably wouldn't think it from the pain," she smiled, attempting to make light of the situation, "You haven't jarred it or broken anything, actually, you might have jarred it. I'm going to check it again in the morning. I think bind it up tonight and some salve for the bruise that will form, that'll be the best course of action to see you get at least a bit of rest. If that's alright with you?"

The blonde girl nodded, flopping back onto her bed weak with exhaustion. The voice had been so real. It wasn't as if it were normal to hear voices in the first place, but this was a man's voice. The painting was special, special to her in a way no one else could understand. She hadn't seen something quite so real in so long, it almost made her fear for her safety. The old works echoed around her brain, what had that man done? "It's hard to explain, Rosaline," she began, regaining her original composure, "I simply see someone dying again and again and I want to help the poor soul so much, but," shrugged the woman softly, "I don't know how. It's almost like he's blaming me for not knowing, suggesting I could save him if only I thought about it a little harder."

Rosaline nodded in an understanding way, although she didn't really follow. Her mistress was dreaming about a man dying? Perhaps she should look into that matter. It surely wasn't normal. Not normal for a woman like the lady she served so faithfully. The servant moved swiftly, helping her mistress into bed. As she turned down the light she promised, "Don't you worry, Miss, I'll give you something tomorrow that will get rid of those dreams for you. Meanwhile do try and stay in bed, please? It's terribly cold out just now, which is odd because yesterday I could have sworn I felt the sickly heat of a storm building. Nothings been the same for a few years, the house mirrors our unrest. That's what Naina says," she offered by way of explanation, "I don't believe a word of it mind you, but it might help you if there was some sort of…answer."

Her own answer was the sound of heavy breathing. The brunette smiled, she had gone to sleep already. At least that was a good thing. Pulling the door shut behind her, the girl carefully made her way along the dark corridor all the more aware of what was going on by way of floorboards after the accident. She picked up the chair her mistress had knocked over and put it back against the wall so as to prevent any other mishaps. The girl failed to notice the broken bars that formed the supportive back. They would receive her attention tomorrow, however, very little did not receive attention from Rosaline.

She reached her room and assessed the area, confused again. What was leading her mistress out here? She hadn't made a habit of strange dreams and sleep walking before. It was all giving her that nasty sensation that something was wrong. She rubbed her nose, retreating into her room, still thinking it over. She'd ask around tomorrow when she went into the village to get some vegetables for Sunday. Maybe she could buy something that the folklore suggested would work against nightmares. There was only one great force Rosaline believed in truly, anything to help her mistress, however, anything.

* * *

The man sat with his back to the fire hunched and proud all at once. His eyes and face set in deep thought, buried deep in the notions of many things. The shadows danced their way around the vast hall of his house and he could hear faint murmurings coming from the rooms next to it. They were annoying, yet comforting. The sound of his hard work in action. The hard work and meticulous care that was finally to pay off.

He shifted his position slightly so as to awaken deadened parts of his body. He unfolded his legs and stretched them out, inviting the blood to being circulating once again. He was frustrated, so very frustrated. In fact, scratch that, he was damned well near furious. How dare those stuffy politicians do that to his country? Just how dare they! What did they think they knew? They didn't understand the people. They never had. Only deigning to mingle among the masses when it would work well for them. Their two faced hides and lying propaganda made him sick. Peace? He'd give them peace. Hands squeezed the arm of his chair tightly, bringing his knuckles to attention by forcing them that sickly white colour.

"Now, now, do calm down. You'll burst a blood vessel."

"Why do you care about my blood vessels?" he answered with an empty tone.

"I don't. I was just trying to be polite and open a fluent and brightening conversation with my one and only saviour."

"Don't try, Mr Gray, it's unnerving and it's impossible to have a brightening conversation. Look at the two of us. Can you see happynothings about the weatherfitting inhere? Anyway, I though you were supposed to be getting somewhere by now? I am relying on you for all this to work, you know we're on a schedule."

Now what would seem strange if someone were to walk into this scene at that precise moment would be the fact that the owner of the second voice was no where to be seen. No body. No second chair. In fact, it would look like the man deep in thought was going completely insane and was talking to himself. The two sides of his mind engrossed in a debate each opposing the other on a very important moral matter. However, this was not what was happening at all, in one hand the man was holding a tiny portrait. This was known as a miniature and the face on this miniature was extremely close to the original, which it of course been based upon. Silly girl who'd had it commissioned all those years ago. Far too stupid for her own good. Too stupid to deal with emotions as strong as hers and magic. This was the result. Indeed it was.

The original was currently sitting on or decorating if one could bring oneself to give it that much credit, a wall in a nondescript house in Romania. (Quite near the border of Hungary, if you wanted to be more specific.) This, however, may have become more apparent if you had taken the time to look around the room before asking stupid questions. There was a large round table in behind the man and on that table lay a map. There were borderlines done in a bright red ink, and then another set down in a rich purple. These had been done recently which became evident when you saw the smudges caused by someone in a hurry, this line had either been not so well thought out or happened upon in a moment of genius. Both can be used to describe one moment for each person, choose as you will.

On this map were also several points marked with a little white flag. One was the position of the aforementioned house in Romania, one was in central France, one was in mid Austria and showed the position of the house were the man himself was currently staying and one was just in Northern Italy.

The man stood up, taking the miniature with him. His grey toned eyes looked over at these points with a dark expression, "I need you be to be in France before everyone else gets there. We know where they're all going to sign it, you know I need you there Mr Gray now stop fooling around!" He grew more alive as the vehemence poured out to garnish the final reprimand. He had no time to entertain stupid romantics.

"I, Schlasser am not fooling around. I try and get to the girl and she does nothing. Every time I get her near the portrait someone interrupts us! Life's hard when you have no physical body. Whether it's her servant or that damned clock, it's almost like she's not the one who's supposed to do this…" his own tirade trailed off, his own frustration exhausted and explained at last. No one understood his woes. No one had ever understood completely. Not even Basil.

The man straightened up visibly, a look of disbelief crossing his heavy features, "Do you mean to tell me that you have been working on the mistress," he clicked his fingers, trying to find some clear way of identifying her, "the blonde woman for this past week?"

The voice came a little doubtful now, but still holding its mocking tone (a brave feat), "Well, yes, you said the descendant lived in that house. That was why you arranged for my portrait to be available after that auction and why I charmed the Lady of the house into her impulsive purchase."

Schlasser half sighed, half groaned, "You idiot, Gray, you complete and utter imbecile. The mistress is not the descendant! It's the other girl, her servant. Use your head, her ancestors were Greek. Do you think she'll be blonde?"

"Widening of the gene pool?"

"Shut up, Gray, and for once just listen to someone who knows more than you. Strangely enough some people choose to hide their talents, gifts, whatever out of fear. Particularly in places like Romania, Eastern Europe," then he remarked almost as an after thought, "very superstitious countries. Not helped by the war, you understand."

The voice sounded faintly put out, no laughter now, "Do you mean to tell me that I've been wasting my time over the wrong girl because of your lack of information?"

The man snorted in frustration and burst away from the chair, nostrils flaring dangerously, "You will not blame me for this. I am keeping with my part of the deal, Sawyer will be here within two days and are you ready to be reborn yet? No. You are procrastinating, cheating me of my time and, Mr Gray, I am warning you: I will destroy that portrait of yours so truly you will have no more second chances unless you are ready in time. Understand?"

"Completely," Schlasser relaxed, thinking he'd at last won one of the many arguments between them, "Oh really," the voice continued with its self assured phrasings, "and how do you intend to pull off your little caper then, hmmm? You need me Schlasser, face it like the man you profess to be, and I will have my way. As for the servant," he made a dismissive noise, "her mind will be weak. Just a few intoxicating kisses and promises of love for all of time and I'll have her wrapped around my little finger."

Schlasser interrupted the voice with a cold and empty chuckle, "You think descendants from the gods submit to mind control just like that? What century are you living in. You will need to work on her all hours of the day, she must see and hear nothing but you. She must be obsessed by the need to release you, the compulsion to follow you. She's is our back up plan should things taken a less welcome tone. Not totally important, you understand, but necessary. Like a complimentary piece of jewellery for a dress."

"You worry far too much, Ussell. I'll be ready by the end of the week, I want it just as much as you do. Never forget that."

"And don't you forget how..."

"How much this treaty means to you and your country? Yes, yes, fine, I know. Please, do not go into another one of your martyr likes rants about patriotism. They are incredibly dull, you get into that state of mind and no one can talk to you coherently for hours afterwards. Why do you think I attempt pleasant conversation? Anything is better than that."

"You, Mr Gray, have to be singularly one of the most horrid men I have ever worked with," he held up his hands in despair, "and you're dead, though I use that term most loosely, at the moment. I hate to think what you're going to be like in flesh and blood. If my heart weren't so black already I'd probably feel for the poor girl who you're going to bewitch, she'll probably have to put up with a lot of rubbish from you."

"The girl and I will be much busier with other things to worrying about what I say and how I act. She's actually very attractive," his reasoning for mentioning that was to annoy the man more than being serious, he wanted to get right under his skin and see what made him tick. It wasn't going to be like what happened with Moriarty. He would not be manipulated this time around, "she reminds me of Mina," he continued lightly, "only she seems a lot less feisty. That was always the problem between Mina and I. We were both so stubborn and had such fiery tempers."

"You talk about me giving you sermons about patriotism, your trips down memory lane are even worse. The trouble is that you've lived so long the seem to take an extraordinary long time to tell anything. It must be nice to have time like that. If you will insist on carrying on I hope you'll forgive me if I fall asleep. These past few days have been stressful."

"Schlasser, I am going, I have a girl to ensnare with my charms. Why on earth would I waste my time on you? I'll talk to you again tomorrow, same time, and the day after I want confirmation that you have Sawyer, most of my own plans hinge on him. That is a most horrid concept, you understand. I bear the boy nothing but ill will and I intend to make him understand that."

"I know Gray, I know."

* * *

**Right now, Authors Notes**

First of all I'm just posting this as a taster of the story that would follow. I have the chapters mapped out and the full story planned. I'm just interested in feed back and whether people think it's worth me carrying this on at the moment...

Secondly I know this isn't exactly the best piece of writing and the chances are I will probably re-do this is people give positive comments on it. This chapter has now been improved, I would sincerely hope the comparison between this and the next chapter would be evident. Don't worry the rest get a makeover soon as well. 27/10/05

Thirdly, I am trying to make this a good LXG fic so I have done a lot of background research into things and I have already read most of the Novels from which the characters were extracted so I do have some knowledge of where they have all come from, though not all of them, so I would hope you would forgive me if I make mistakes.

Fourthly, this will not turn out to be a 'Mary Sue.' I am working on some very complex love triangles and pentagons and the such like. Also the plot will be historically based and involve fair amounts of politics.

Fifthly, it will be more exciting, this was sort of just to bridge the gap vaguely between the first film and my story.

Read, Review and hopefully enjoy. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

All the best,

Emerald3


	2. Chapter One

**The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Resurrected**

**Chapter One :- Of Memories And Of Dreams**

Tom rubbed his nose thoughtfully; he didn't like this. There was something definitely wrong about it, something wrong about the whole set up. Two years of gruelling fighting in the trenches had made him much more careful, much more mellow. True America hadn't 'officially' joined the war until 1917 but Tom had felt that it was his duty to protect the country where the League was based. His duty to protect its members if nothing else. Looking before he leapt was now something programmed into his mind and he was glad that it was there. He was no longer the young boy who had joined the League so long ago, he was now a man, or at least he was a man in mind.

He had seen many horrors in the war that had taken place, many images, and horrific images of what men could do to each other. The violence had shocked him; it was something that he hadn't thought twice about in his early years as a spy. In truth joining the Secret Service back then had been adventure, travelling not about thinking up new and improved ways to kill other men. He didn't know why he had rejoined the American Secret Service after the armistice. The first thing he'd done when the fighting had stopped was to get the hell out of France where he'd been fighting. He'd gone back home. If one could call it that. It didn't feel like home anymore, not without Becky. Perhaps it was a craving to find the good old times that had led him back to that Government Office? He sure as hell felt as though he'd seen enough murders to last him a life time, and yet, here he was on his latest mission with the risk of killing floating over his head.

He guessed that another reason he had taken up his old job again was to makeup for his mistake with M. He had tried so hard to stop him and yet ultimately he had won. M had gotten his war, with or without his preternatural kit of weapons. There'd been an arms race. True…it had been over building some ships (ships which didn't even come close in comparison to what Nemo was capable of) but it had been a cause. Fuelling the trouble. So many lives had been lost in the war and even though he had killed M, killed him with a single shot; the war had still lived and in a way that meant M still did as well.

Ironically the war had also begun with a single shot. The assassination of the Arch Duke of Austria-Hungary, the heir to the throne. He was gunned down just outside a hospital, which would have been funny had it not been so wrong. The Duke had been visiting a man who had been shot in a previous attempt to kill him. The assassins had taken three attempts to kill the man. Even Tom reckoned his shooting skills were better than that. Whether that was a good thing or not escaped him.

That was beside the point though and it most definitely was not funny. He had been killed and the river of war, that had been held back by the feeble dam of alliances, broke forth and flooded the world.

He remembered the day when it had been announced the diplomatic ties with Germany had been renounced. He remembered that day in April when the United States ultimately declared war on Germany. The trouble was he remembered too well, the deaths of so many of his friends, and the deaths of so many innocent enemies. Tom hadn't found the experience of war glorifying as some had said it would be. He found himself feeling sick as he looked on the bodies of the fallen German men lying next to the bodies of his comrades. They were all the same really; all had families, mothers who would weep for them, hearts that would break when they were told their loved ones weren't coming home.

So maybe that was it, maybe that was why Tom had rejoined the service. He wanted to stop anything like that from happening again. He didn't want his sons to grow up in a world torn with war. Nothing like that should ever rip through Europe, America, Japan, and Russia. No one had ever done enough to warrant a retribution like what had happened.

He brought himself back to the present with a tug; living with memories was not the thing to do. He had learned that when he began to brood over Allan. For a long time afterwards he went over things again and again, wondering whether there was anything he could have done. Even when he had travelled with Nemo he couldn't stop the echoes in his thoughts, his dreams. He felt a guilt. There was no denying that. Now there was no more fighting to worry about the old haunts were coming back.

He hadn't had the power in his mind to banish the feelings of blame. His mind eventually twisted it so that he saw so many different ways in which he could have protected Allan. So many ways in which he could of stopped his murder, but now it was too late. It had only begun to relax when he left the Nautilus to return to America for a while before the fighting. Back when things were only light grey instead of the murky black they were now. He realised that everything to do with the League reminded him of Allan. It wasn't always a bad thing to be reminded of. Whilst Allan had taken the position of mentor in his life, things had been pretty good.

Truthfully however he had run away from his problems; he hadn't faced them. He had run straight into a war. He had run to where he was standing now, outside a building in a small suburb just south of Paris. And it was getting to the point where he was sick of running.

All intense spiritual wonderings over he did actually have a job to do. A small grin spread across his face. Yes. The current mission: he was tracking a very suspicious politician, someone who had made protest about the peace treaty. The word had come from the President of the United States himself to have those men watched. Peace was something desperately needed in this world at the moment. They couldn't afford to have some selfish individuals crush the whole thing. Several people were being watched in a similar fashion, true most of them were German… Tom felt rather special actually, being given the oddest and most interesting case of the lot.

He took another look around the corner. The man was of wire like build: tall and thin. He carried a walking stick which served no proper purpose; it was just there because the man liked to swing it as he walked. The man was heading for an orangey- grey building down at the bottom of the street. Tom frowned, he'd never gone there before, and from all he'd learnt about the man it was that he had pattern in his life and he didn't change it unless something serious went wrong.

Tom let him go inside the building and waited for a few seconds. He had to give the man time to settle down inside before he followed him in. He smiled slightly; with all his years of practise he had forgotten one of the first rules in spying. When you follow someone you don't follow behind them, you don't shadow them; it's too easily spotted. You have to stay ahead of them, learn from what they do as to where they are going. He'd slipped up but that didn't matter. The man had no idea that he was being followed by the Agent and Tom had every wish to keep it that way. Another smile spread across his features and his pulled down his wide brimmed hat over his face, there was nothing quite as fun as the chase.

Turning the corner, he put on a very realistic casual walk, a close copy of those he could see around him. The trick would be to blend; no one took any notice of a man walking by. He came and went in their minds as nothing more than a vague memory. He realised as he walked along that he really had missed the thrill and excitement of spying so much. He loved the danger, the anticipation. The fighting had been so different in the war, a brutal fight to the death, just a race to see who could die first. This was subtle and a battle of wits, you only died if you went wrong.

He reached the building and looked at it for a few seconds. It was a rather shabby restaurant. Now this was really odd. This man was very rich and he always went to top quality places, places where he would be treated with respect and where he would get the publicity he required to make people support his career. Tom couldn't help but grin slightly, he could think of a couple of reasons why a man would choose to come to a place like this.

Pushing open the door, he walked in. The place looked thoroughly dingy and to be honest the agent really didn't like it. He sat down at a vacant table, locating the politician as he did so. He was sat at the back talking to another man who had his back to Tom. He pulled out a note book and quickly wrote a description from what he could see, he needed to follow every lead he could. Usually written records were discouraged but if anything went wrong his government wanted absolute proof of what had been going on. A photography would have been better but cameras were just a little too conspicuous.

A waiter came over, pulling out his own pad and Tom rolled his eyes; he'd better buy something, "I'll just have a beer ." The waiter nodded and waddled off with a sullen look upon his face, obviously disappointed that Tom wasn't interested in spending more money.

He returned a minute later carrying a glass of one of most repulsive looking liquids Tom had ever seen. It looked as though it had the texture of syrup. He grimaced; he really did not want to drink that. He looked around the smoke filled room and wondered whether it had been such a good idea for him to come in here after all. He shrugged; it was too late to do anything about it now.

The man arrived at the table and set the drink down so heavily the table shook and the drink slopped over the sides of the glass. Tom looked up at him and raised his eyebrow. The man gave him a nasty little smirk and then handed him a piece of equally grubby paper.

Tom's hand strayed to the pocket of his coat where he had his pistol concealed, he was feeling nervous. Something was not right, he held the piece of paper in his hand until he was sure the waiter was safely behind the bar and then he unfolded it. There written in a bold hand were the words,

_'Thank you, Mr Sawyer, for walking into our little trap so blindly.'_

He looked up in panic at the door and large man stood there, a very muscular man; he had an extremely threatening look about him. Sort of…I want you to come here so I can hit you really hard. Nothing would give me more enjoyment than that. Tom frowned, not much chance of getting out that way apparently. He glanced over at the table where the politician was sitting with the other man. The unknown one turned to look at him then he smiled and gave a little wave.

"Damn."

* * *

Rosaline was dreaming such a pleasant dream; so peaceful and very calming. She was lying in a meadow, surrounded by beautiful and fragrant flowers. She could see lilies, chrysanthemums, pansies, peonies, poppies, violets and so many others in all the colours you could imagine. She breathed in their scent deeply, letting in lull her into a sense of security. Not a usual dream for her but she didn't notice the unrealistic quality, the false sense of safety that the flowers issued along with their scent.

A man behind her watched as she let down her natural protective guards. He would win her soul with this dream. He was amazed at how he was able to infiltrate the mind and twist their thoughts so that they believed they loved him. Her head relaxed back as she became even more at ease, giving him his cue to move into position. He floated behind her, sprawling his legs out so that when she thought she would come into contact with the ground she would actually meet his leg. How dramatic. How coincidental. How perfect to sow the first seeds of an imaginary relationship.

Slowly she felt a desire to be right among the flowers, to look up at the sky with them. Gently Rosaline lay back. She remained there for a few seconds, her mind taking a little while to register what had happened. In this relaxed state your sensations became warped and confused the brain into thinking strange thoughts. She knew that she hadn't met the ground but for the life of her she couldn't place what she was actually lying on. Something soft and yet rough. A fabric?

Rosaline sat up, passing a hand along the back of her head whilst trying to decided whether she had imagined the leg or not. She turned to look, her curiosity over coming all her rational thoughts. She started violently when she saw the man. The only men she'd ever been this close to before had been priests and men in the market. Nothing like this. Never so intimate. She blushed.

Dorian smiled at her reaction, he hadn't felt so alive for years. In fact hadn't felt so alive for twenty years, ever since Mina... ever since Mina allowed him to see his demon. The smile gently widened as he wondered what her reaction would be when she found out that he had faced his demon and won. Unfortunately winning over your demon doesn't lead you back to life. It leaves you stranded there in limbo: not good enough to go to heaven, not dead enough to return to hell.

He watched her as mouth opened with shock and then as she frowned in confusion, "Who-who are you?" She felt a little stupid asking such an obvious question, but it was something that needed to be asked. Practicalities. The world around her was only kept sane by worrying about the practicalities. She felt some sense of rationalisation kick in, beginning to think critically about this stranger in her dream. Beginning to think critically about the whole idea in general. Was he really as harmless as a dream? He didn't look it.

Dorian sighed as he watched her become alert again, especially after he'd gone to all that trouble to calm her down. His nose twitched and he tried his best 'I am trustworthy smile', "I'm a friend." There. Stupid girl should buy that. She hadn't even asked properly and he was showing he knew what she was thinking. Displaying his 'awesome powers' that would make her believe his every word.

Something was definitely wrong about him. Rosaline could not put a finger on it, however. The smile he gave was so warm and so caring that it couldn't be real. She watched him all the more closely, despairing of the dilemma that was taking place inside her. She wanted to go and sit with him, a hypnotic shadow was falling across her mind and she wanted to give in. The girl realised as a shadow clouded her regular thoughts that she would like nothing better than to go and walk to him. Walk anywhere to be with him. In her mind two things made a connection: her mistress's walk onto the landing and her own need to walk. The painting. He was the man from the painting! She scrambling away from him, her heart beat sped up. She didn't like him and she certainly didn't feel safe anymore. It was so confusing, he didn't give off an aura of someone who would behave like a friend and yet he seemed so gentle.

Watching as the girl managed to choke something out he saw something he'd never thought he'd see again. True kindness. He hadn't seen such purity since before he had met Basil. But it was naïve. Naïve and stupid and it did not attract him. She was like one of the flowers she'd be admired but soon it would all fade and she would be left a jaded weed. He was brought back to earth by the sound of her voice, "I asked you who you were."

Smiling, he replied, "I know, and I answered."

"I don't believe you," she stated simply, face contorted with suspicion. She found herself moving further away from him. There was a change going on in her mind and it reflected in her surroundings. She was no longer relaxed and as she grew tenser the flowers were growing higher and getting more compressed around them. Rosaline continued to move backward unaware of this change until something sharp cut into her thumb. She exclaiming in shock and pain, she quickly retracted it.

She held up her left hand there was a small cut on the tip of her thumb, it must have been pierced by something fairly sharp to have gone quite so deep into her thumb. Turning her head, another gasp escaped her.

What had one been a soft bed of flowers had now turned into something horrible, reflecting the insecurity she felt? All around her were thick bushes of thistles, their sharp prickles grew from the stems an inch in length, walling her in like an animal in a cage and starting to dig into her arms and back. She could move no further from the mesmerizing dark haired man. Something that worried her more though was the fact that she was beginning to forget why she'd tried to run anyway.

"Careful," he cautioned, an automatic and unfeeling response. Then he added in a more pleasant and amiable voice, "Why don't you come back over here?"

"Because I don't trust you", she snapped, nursing her thumb. Even as she sucked the blood away the reasons for not trusting him were growing fainted, grains of sand slipping between her fingers. Resorting to her last attack, Rosaline allowed herself to become irritate. Anger began to flow through her as she realised her dreams were being violated by some stranger. Some charming stranger who was slowly captivating her attention, the thumb dropped from her mouth, blood continuing to run unnoticed. "I think," began the girl matter-of-factly, "you're the man who's been hurting my mistress."

Dorian smirked at her, shrugging his shoulders, "You got me," he surrendered mockingly, without a slightest trace of regret. "Anyway now that we've established that why don't we stop this silly behaviour and you come and sit with me?"

Rosaline shook her head firmly and moved as far back as she could with out touching the wall of ugly prickles that surrounded her. She wanted to awaken but if she didn't wake up when her thumb was pierced by and she'd first felt the pain then there was a good chance she wouldn't wake up until this man was ready for her to. Feeling pain in dreams is a similar draw back to the present, like falling: you woke up; the pain was generally real.

An expression of mild irritation breezed across Dorian's features, but then he looked at her scared little face and his features softened visibly. Had you looked into his eyes you would have seen the twisted maliciousness that was starting to consume him once again. He had missed the thrill of enchanting someone and the girl's eye were trained on his face in such a way that he couldn't resist, such unspoken adoration of his face. His tone of voice became honey like, soothing, and enchanting, he pleaded, "Please come. I just want to sit with you."

His voice rippled through her mind, clouding it over in a drug like manner. She looked at him with confused and dazed. He was such a handsome man, he skin clear and smooth, expression so dark and interesting. His hair falling in soft waves, it was begging for her to come and touch it, to let her fingers trace the patterns it made on his face. She had a faint feeling of déjà vu, as though she had seen the face somewhere before.

"Come to me," he beckoned once again, resorting to his empty flattery, "I think you are so beautiful."

Rosaline took a sharp in take of air as she felt her feet moving towards him all memories of her life in reality disappearing. The soft flower petals felt like a breath of wind underneath her feet when just crushed the blooms accidentally. She wanted to fight, everything inside her was screaming for her to sit still, but the man was so intoxicating. She just needed to hear his voice, to be with him and touch his soft brown hair. That's all. It would do no harm. It couldn't. He obviously was kind and gentle.

He watched her coming towards him, falling under the spell that had charmed so many young women so long ago. It reminded him so strongly of life, of having a physical body. A moment of melancholia threatened to engulf him but he remembered quickly why he was doing this. 'Just one kiss,' he thought as she came closer, 'one kiss and you'll be mine. Nothing will be able to save you after that.'

Rosaline reached him and sat down next to him on the bed of flowers. He gently took her hand and she obligingly allowed him to keep it, enjoying the closeness. This felt so wrong to her and yet so right. She now believed that he loved her, that he wanted her and she felt complete. This was love was supposed to be like? Wooing and all the soft compliments that her mistress used to tell her about. Back when her mistress had gone out and socialised. There were no men around the house now…so maybe that was why she had come to him so readily. Curiosity if nothing else.

She leaned her head against him and he rested his head on hers. He didn't blame her for falling for him so quickly. This felt comfortable and stable. Two very good things to have when he was on a time limit. All around him the flowers took on a delightful pastel hue: pinks, blues etc. Those light colours that make you think of early spring and the promise of warm days it brings. Everything was set to manipulate her and it was doing such a good job. He almost pitied her. Almost.

He knew that his time with her was coming to a close and he still had yet to seal all the work he had done. He tore the head of one of the prettiest flowers he could see and tapped her arm with such sensitivity that she felt tingles running through her. Rosaline raised her head and her eyes met with his. Yes, love. It must be love.

She knew that something should have told her that this had been done so many times before. A repeated and calculated routine. But she didn't want to know; she didn't want to leave him at all. Her took her hand in his and pressed the flower into it. He congratulated himself as he saw her understanding bloom, a flower all on its own. He delicately pushed her hand back to where it belonged and she looked away from him, realising with a sharp pang that he actually was going to go away. Her soul, her mind, her heart were confused and consumed all at once. He couldn't go!

He lifted her chin slightly, feeling a little sad himself that this was going to end. It couldn't deny that it didn't feel nice; he could learn to 'love' someone like her maybe to heighten the illusion. He could if he had a heart. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. The girl closed her eyes, feeling that nothing could have made her any happier. When she opened them a seconds later the only thing she saw was her room.

At first extreme disappointment looked set to take over when the voice rippled around her, "Free me, Rosaline. I love you... Do you love me too?" She clenched her hands in panic, stopping when she felt something between her fingers. She raised her shaking hand slowly, afraid of what she was going to see. Her fears were confirmed when she saw the slightly squashed pink and white flower there as real as she was.

"A demon," she hissed, tumbling out of bed in fright.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Right, now I know that a 20 year time gap is rather large, but I felt seeing as they aren't exactly normal people they probably don't age exactly like them either. For my story let's just say that they don't. I need you to think of the characters the same in appearance; otherwise this will not really work.

If you insist that they have to age then think of the aging in mind, growing wiser learning from past mistakes. Also if you want me to work it in to my story plausibly I can, I have something that will link it in if you're desperate. So yes that was my rant, just imagine them the same in looks mostly, but much more mature in the way they think and act.

And another thing, this isn't going to be a Mary Sue story with Dorian and Rosaline falling for each other and that making Dorian turn all goody-goody two shoes. That would just be boring. Give me a couple more chapters and I'll have more characters introduced so the emotions will thicken. And besides Rosaline doesn't really love Dorian he's erm, seducing her, so there. :P

Oh and a big thank you to my first reviewers,

Funyun – Thank you, you're probably one of the main reasons why I carried on with this fan fiction.

Drowchild – See my little note about the ages, I already have a reason as to why they wouldn't have aged in appearance, I'll add it in as we go so don't worry . They're all as hot as ever.

Xini – I owe this obsession to you, and I hope you'll help keep this story alive until I finish it. **Haha, Xini. Look at this. A year later and you've revived it again. More trouble than you're worth. p 28/10/05**

Marah Valin – Thank you for the support it means a lot to me. Glad you want to know what happens I have a very juicy plot going on. And yes Dorian is definitely being a bad boy. He'd lose all of his sex appeal if he wasn't! .


	3. Chapter Two

The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Resurrected.  
  
Chapter 2 – The Trap Is Set  
  
"Damn."  
  
Tom could have kicked himself for being so stupid. Why hadn't he followed his instincts, of course it had felt wrong. The stupid Politician was probably under the effect of bribery or maybe even black mail. Tom pulled a hand down over his face trying to escape from the depressing thoughts of death and his own idiocy.  
  
He could sense movement behind him and he knew that the unknown man was moving in on him. Grimacing he muttered, "You are not getting me that easily buddy."  
  
He drummed the table with his fingers for a moment, only the speed of his tapping giving away the tension inside him. He forced a look of unconcern on to his face, he really had two reasons for doing this. One he wasn't going to sit there and look like a panicked rat in a trap, he wasn't going to give these pigs that satisfaction. And secondly, he didn't want them to have any idea of what he was up to.  
  
His hand went inside his jacket, at the same time a hand was placed on his shoulder, "Mr Sawyer, I suggest you put that gun away before you hurt yourself."  
  
Tom rolled his eyes, he was not a boy anymore, he was a fully grown adult and he didn't need patronising. He clenched his fist and inclining his head slightly as if he were innocently looking over his shoulder. In a fast and fluid motion he slammed his iron like fist into the crook of the man's elbow. He was greeted with a satisfactory crack, a grunt of pain and ultimately the grip loosened.  
  
He jumped of the chair and pulled out his pistol. He whirled around on the balls of his feet trying to work out the situation. It seemed that this had been planned very well for there were men rising to their feet and reaching for their own armaments all around him. Tom frowned in frustration trying to locate an escape path. The front door was the only plausible place to go, but the large man Tom had seen before was looking decidedly solid.  
  
Tom let forth a stream of not very appropriate words which caused even some of the enemy to look taken back. He raised his pistol and shot the man in the leg so as to immobilise him. At least there was a good chance he'd be able to recover. He skipped over the tables listening to the rush of feet and fabric as the mercenaries followed him. For good measure he decided to do something very Quatermainesque and he picked up a chair and slammed it into the head of the enemy nearest him. He watched with mild fascination as the man sank to the floor, his pupils rolling back towards his skull. After a moment's consideration Tom decided that he didn't like doing that sort of thing.  
  
He pulled himself together and continued towards the door where the man had collapsed his hand grasping his shattered knee cap. Tom watched his twitching body and began to wonder whether it would have been better to have killed him. Suddenly there was the sound of a gunshot and Tom stood paralysed for a moment trying to decide whether he'd been hit or not. Then he heard the heavily accented voice which marked the stranger at the table yell out, "Don't hit him you imbeciles! We want him alive, now for goodness sake will someone hit him on the head or do I have to do it myself?"  
  
Tom turned as he reached the door and as his hand pushed down on the handle he turned to the man in charge and said, "Hired help just isn't what it was these days. Aurevoir Monsieur." The door's catch finally released behind him and taking a quick step to the side he let it swing open. Giving a cheeky salute he backed through the door and slammed it.  
  
The accented man raised his eyebrow and then let out a faint sigh of exasperation, "Americans, they think they're all that." Then turning to the men who had watched Tom escape with mild interest he barked out, "Will you lot move your sorry selves outside and get after him. Do you realise that we're all as good as dead if we don't capture him."  
  
He was greeted with a few blank stares from the men, they were obviously not the brightest sparks. Sighing he began to gesticulate to the accompanying speech, "There goes your life running through that door, personally I'd want to catch it before it ran off a cliff. Don't you agree?"  
  
A flurry of movement followed this address and in a few moments the fighters were all out the door. Picking up his own gun he guessed that they had probably understood that, maybe they were just playing him. Trying to get him looking stupid, minute doubts filled his mind as he ran to the door himself. This could mean a little bit of trouble, mutiny in the morning gave him a headache.  
  
Outside I had begun to rain and Tom legged it down the street, his feet splashing in the newly forming puddles as he went. He was grinning broadly, congratulating himself on such a good and easy escape. Something was nagging at him though. If that was a planned attempt to catch him alive, surely they would have allowed for him to get away? He wasn't complaining, but he felt some what cheated, in a manner of speaking. He hadn't completed a decent escape since, well since the whole scene in the bank in Venice.  
  
A collision with something very hard brought him back to his senses. He looked up and realised that he had run straight into a man standing waiting for the bus. "Oh gosh sorry", his apology was hurried and he looked back nervously in the direction of the inn. "Guess I didn't see you there what with the rain and everything."  
  
Tom was about to run off again when the man grabbed hold of his arm. His eyes were questioning the man as he turned around, was this coincidences, or was he back into the lion's den. "Err Sir, would you mind letting go, I'm a little bit of a hurry."  
  
A chuckle sounded from beneath the man's high collar, "Is that so? Off to meet a sweet heart are you?"  
  
Tom averted his eyes angrily trying to prevent himself from tearing his arm from the man's hand. "No." Came his short and almost sullen reply, "My sweet heart and I can no longer meet. She's dead, a victim of this idiotic war. Now would you please allow me to be off?"  
  
In response to the question the grip only tightened and the same unnerving chuckle sounded from deep with his clothing. "Oh no Mr Sawyer, I can't let you go. A word of advice, next time you plan to spy in an unknown city, make sure you know the back routes. You'd be amazed how quickly you can move." He shook his wide rimmed hat off and his coat fell open. Tom's eye widened in mild amazement as his eyes set themselves on the features of the man who's voice had contained such a heavy accent.  
  
Stumbling backwards he couldn't focus enough to decide what to do. He had been so focused on his easy escape plan he hadn't allowed for something like this. With a stab of fear and guilt he realised he had been caught out by his own cockiness. Obviously the years of war had done nothing to help him plan a little better. Although they really should have had some form of positive effect, Tom had sat through hours of battle planning sometimes, but being young and head strong he hadn't listened to the careful generals and their allowing for every meticulous detail. He'd chosen to polish he gun and boots instead.  
  
Some one might take that statement alone as a sign of vanity and shallowness for appearance. But in Tom's mind, he had become his very own Lady Macbeth. He saw the blood of fallen men on the soul of his boots, and their ghosts seemed to cling onto the end of his rifle. Tom had not been able to let go of ghosts from the past, and in the long run they had come back to haunt him.  
  
Sparks danced before his eyes as he felt the rage and passion and hate he remembered the war with swell up inside him. He brought his knee sharply up into the man's groin and again the grip loosened, but Tom wouldn't leave. He would make this man pay for making him remember the war, for making him remember Becky. A solid punch collided with the right side of the man's jaw, closely followed by a sharp and powerful kick to his rib cage.  
  
A rasping voice sounded out from beneath the man, "You can kick high boy. Did you train as a Ballet dancer sometime? You certainly think like a dancer, that is you just mimic the actions of you betters." He coughed violently and breathed deeply trying to ignore the pain throbbing around his body, it didn't matter the boy would have his own fair share of pain in the next few days. Maybe he'd even be able to kill him, that would be nice.  
  
"But you see, you just gained the upper hand in this fight, that is gained in the past tense because you have just lost it entirely."  
  
Without warning four hands gripped his upper arms from behind. A strangled cry of frustration and shock escaped him. Fighting against their grips of steel he lost some of the control which marked those more advanced in the techniques of espionage. With a pace of one condemned the man who Tom had attacked approached him and gave him a grin similar to one which a predator might give to its prey in the last moments of its life.  
  
There was a rush of air as his foot collided with Tom's hand, and the pistol which he had been gripping clattered to the floor. As the cold sun set on that evening in mid-June his captor threw his head back and laughed in his own peculiar manner and growled, "You have dallied with Viscien ((pronounced Vi – Zzzz –ien)) boy, and guess what . . ."  
  
Tom looked up at him with hollow eyes, but saw nothing more as the blunt end of a rifle butt collided with his head. His body fell limp and Viscien finished triumphantly, "you lost."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Mina drummed her fingers on the wooden table, her mind idle, her mood listless. All they were waiting for was a short little message from Sawyer. Then she could go and sit for hours brushing her hair, and musing on past events.  
  
It was true the years before the war had been fascinating, they had gone all over the globe China, Japan, France they'd even gone to America with Sawyer. The members of the League had fulfilled their hopes and dreams of travelling, of meeting new people, but then came that infernal war.  
  
After news reached Nemo that submarine warfare was to be introduced he had refused to move. They had been moored in the Adriatic Sea of the east coast of Italy for four years. Nemo had refused to take sides for two reasons: the first and most obvious was that he didn't want to risk any damage coming to his ship, and the second was a personal matter. From what Mina had been able to determine, Nemo's past was chequered with various crimes involving piracy. She could only guess that Nemo had no wish to take the lives of others again.  
  
They had gone ashore Nauteloid once or twice a month, but other than that, the past four years had marked a time of emptiness and grieving for Mina. After Tom left, things had got much worse for her. Although she could not return Tom's affection in the way that he wished, she did hold him with some compassion, similar to that a sister would hold a younger brother with. She feared for his life every day and coupled with the loss of Dorian and Jonathan, she felt as though she'd never allow herself to feel loved again for the fear of the pain it might cause.  
  
The constant rhythm of her fingers was clearly beginning to irritate Nemo who let out an audible sigh before stating the obvious, "Sawyer's late."  
  
Mina sat back in her chair and crossed her arms across her stomach. "I had worked that out, actually. Do you think he's actually late? Or there's something wrong?"  
  
"You worry too much, Mrs. Harker. Delays often occur and hinder those employed in a legal activity."  
  
"He's never been late before."  
  
Nemo gazed at her whose eyes still possessed the same calm which conveyed the fact that he was not yet worried. "He told us yesterday he was planning to track that man in an unknown area of the town. He's probably exploring somewhere and having so much fun that he's forgotten all about the time."  
  
Mina nodded, although her doubts had not been set at rest. She rose to her feet and began to pace in a restless manner muttering things about the unreliability of men.  
  
The quiet click of the receiver broke the silent tension between them and Nemo noted that Mina's shoulders visibly relaxed. He signalled to the operator to translate the message with a vague, almost lazy wave of his hand. The man quickly began to jot things down on a pad of paper. But as the message went on, his hand began to shake and his face grew paler. Mina looked down at him with an expression of concern and anticipation.  
  
"What does it say?" she asked quietly as the receiver ceased to move. The operator cleared his throat nervously and began to read.  
  
"I believe that you are waiting for a message from one of your friends. A Mr. Sawyer, to be more precise. The trouble is, that unconscious people don't really have much to say."  
  
There was now a reversal of roles as Mina sank down onto a chair and Nemo rose to his feet, his hand automatically straying to the hilt of his sword.  
  
The operator carried on. "Don't worry. Mr. Sawyer will not come to any harm...yet. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said if you fail to turn up at this location: 22°, 31°. A friend of mine much desires to be come reacquainted with you. In fact, he's crossing the boundaries of life and death to do so. S.U."  
  
Mina slammed a fist into her palm, "I knew something was wrong, I just knew it! Do we believe this message? Is there any possibility it could be a joke?"  
  
Nemo's right hand was clenching his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white and his left hand was tugging in an anxious manner at his beard. "I think not. Not even Sawyer would joke on such matters. It's obviously a trap of sorts with Sawyer playing the role of bait."  
  
Nodding in agreement, Mina replied, "I suppose that much is true. But what bothers me is how this S.U. person knew of the League's existence."  
  
The air was thick with tension again. Only this time it was of a different sort, whereas before it had been one of anticipation, it was now of bewilderment and anger. Mina's lips were pursed and she resumed her restless pacing, "So who do we know who's died recently and would have reason to hate us?"  
  
In a few slow strides Nemo had reached his logs and thumbed through them back to 1899. "The only person I can think of would be Moriarty, but it's impossible, he's dead after all."  
  
"Who are we to command what it possible and what is not? You yourself have witnessed and even created your fair share of the impossible. Maybe there is a way for Moriarty to return, maybe he never died."  
  
Nemo shook his head, his confident demeanour had vanished and he looked at her with an almost pleading look, "James Moriarty it dead, we all saw and buried his body, how can he rise again."  
  
"Vampires are said to be dead Nemo, and yet they all rise again."  
  
Shaking his head with disbelief he marched to the door of his reception room and barked out, "You, go to my study. Fetch me 2 sheets of paper, and a pen and ink. Now!"  
  
Mina heard the rustle of rushed feet and guessed the Nemo was summoning for paper on which he could write to Skinner, and Jekyll to inform them of the set back. She wandered what on earth had happened to Tom, she didn't understand how Moriarty could have returned to life. She though that only vampires could do that, and even then it was a curse as she had to drink the blood of innocent people in order to do so.  
  
She had to admit though, it did make sense that Moriarty was behind all this. After all, who better to use for a weapon of revenge than the very boy who stole his life from him?  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Gosh, this took ages.  
  
I have to apologise that this took so long . . .I had to do some editing, namely changing the entire second section of my story. I had some re- arranging to do which I forgotten about.  
  
I also have to make a confession, I spelt Allan incorrectly in my previous chapter, and I thought I should point out my lack of care because I have actually been pretty thorough in my research . . . to the extent of reading all the originals from whence these fascinating characters came.  
  
Guess I've rambled enough. Hope you enjoyed this, I'm having a lot of fun writing it. I'm trying really hard to make this a good LXG, so any tips for improvement on my writing would be appreciated. ((Not the plot though ;) got that all organised.))  
  
Best wishes  
  
Emerald3 


	4. Chapter Three

The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Resurrected  
  
Chapter 3 – Please Save Me From The Demon  
  
Rosaline stumbled along, her eyes darting everywhere almost rolling with her madness. The man had come to her for the past two nights and she was terrified and intoxicated. She couldn't breath without thinking about him, she choked when she remembered his face.  
  
Her cheeks were flushed with a body heat that derived from panic, and although the morning was cool and clear she saw no beauty anywhere. Half feeling her way through the narrow streets of Lugoj. ((Yes before you ask that is a proper Romanian town very close to the longitudes and latitudes I gave in my previous chapter.))  
  
Her mind was fighting for control, the face and voice of him were seeping through all her defences though, and she was powerless. He was like honey, and she was the bee; completely and hopelessly attracted by his sugar sweet promises of love.  
  
Breathing harshly she almost ran the last few steps to the shack on the edge of the town. Her fingers fumbled inside her blouse trying to catch hold of her small silver crucifix. But the sweat from her fingers wouldn't allow her to get a good grip, this natural reason was put down in her mind as a sign that she was one of the damned.  
  
"NAINA!!" She rushed up to the rough beige door and rapped on it harshly, desperate to talk to her old friend, "NAINA PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!!"  
  
From inside she heard the soft slaps of bare feet and they came to rest behind the door. "Who's there?" was the suspicious answer Rosaline's pleas.  
  
"Naina, it's me, Rosaline." She was almost sobbing by now the flight from the house, the race through the town. They danced as delirious shadows in the depths of her mind and she fought to regain he sense of equilibrium and calm, "Naina please open the door. I need your help."  
  
Cautiously the door was pulled back, and the grating sound that it made on the rough stone floor reverberated through Rosaline's head like the bells that tolled death. She tumbled through the door and fell onto the small old woman in tears.  
  
Taken aback at first by Rosaline's behaviour she was at a loss as to what to do. Eventually however, her natural instincts kicked in and she stroked her thick brown hair and rocked her smoothly back and forth in the manner that one would treat a small child.  
  
Rosaline's sobs did not cease for a good five minutes, and all the grief, pain and fear that Dorian had made her feel flowed out like lava from an erupting volcano. Rosaline's head rested in the deep crook between Naina's shoulder as her tears slowly subsided into quiet sobs.  
  
"Now", she asked softly, "What's all this about? Hmm, why you come and wake old Naina up so early Little Miss?"  
  
Rosaline pushed away from her. Pulling a hand through her hair in a distraught manner she stuttered, "It's . . . I'm so . . .he says he loves me."  
  
A warm laugh vibrated through the olds woman's body, "So, Little Miss Rosaline is broken hearted over a sweetheart, is that it? He promised to give you the moon but you got some cheese instead?"  
  
Tears welled up in Rosaline's eyes. Naina's words seemed to mock her, just like Dorian's rich brown eyes. "No! He's not my sweet heart, he's like an angel, and yet you looks at me as though he has nothing but ice in his eyes. He scares me Naina."  
  
She got to her feet, her hands were shaking as she fought the powers in her mind which were screaming at her to stop telling her friend about Dorian. "He comes to me, he comes in my dreams. Always the same promises, always the same plea to be free, always the same kiss at the end. He's a demon Naina, a demon fighting to be free."  
  
As Rosaline's hysteria flowed out of her, Naina's mouth turned from a hopeless smile to a look of extreme sincerity. Carefully she studied Rosaline, she was obviously upset by these dreams, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright. She noted that her breathing was shallow and irregular and saw the internal fight going on as whatever power was after her tried to conceal itself.  
  
"Oh My Child", she whispered at last, "You have been chosen by God to face a great power, there is little I can do."  
  
Sinking to her knees, Rosaline pleaded with her eyes. Despair seemed to flow from her, seeping out and chilling the air around her. "You were my only hope of salvation. The Lord has abandoned me to fight the devil alone, I may as well say my prayers of forgiveness before death now."  
  
Calmly she knelt on the floor one hand gripped around her crucifix, the other clutching the area of skin just above her heart.  
  
"The Lord is my shepherd,  
  
I shall not be in want.  
  
He makes me lie down in Green pastures,  
  
he leads me by quiet waters,  
  
he restores my soul.  
  
He guides me in the paths of righteousness  
  
for his name's sake.  
  
Even though I walk  
  
through the valley of the shadow of death,  
  
I fear no evil."  
  
The old woman frowned at her and shook her roughly as she knelt down in front of her. "You silly girl, the Lord abandons no one, in times of need he is there more than we will ever know. You will face your demons and you will win, have faith in yourself and the Lord. He has never left you before, he brought you to me, to your mistress yes he is your shepherd, and yes you walk in the shadow of death, but you are right to fear no evil."  
  
Gently she cupped Rosaline's tear streaked chin in her old callous hands and said gently, "The Lord never lets anyone face an evil they can not defeat, you are being tested to see if you can become an angel. If you die you will be eternally happy in his home, if you live you will be eternally happy with those you love. Rosaline you can not loose. Don't let me hear that psalm again until you are an old, old woman on her death bed."  
  
Rosaline smiled through her tears and even managed to feel a little sheepish. The fear of Dorian, the power that filled her at night seemed almost like an echo now and she felt calmer than she had felt in three days. "God bless you Naina, you are so good to me every day, I should be lost without you."  
  
Naina inclined her head and then pulled the girl to her feet. "Now girl, you go home and every night you pray and God will help you fight this man. Don't listen to his promises of love and never free him. Every time it gets too much to bear you find your crucifix and God will find you in the blink of an eye. You'd best get back now, your Mistress will be up and looking for you. It might give her a nasty shock to find that you're not there."  
  
Rosaline nodded in agreement, and composing herself, she quickly tied back her limp hair. Giving her eyes a final wipe, and Naina a final kiss on the cheek she set off back through the town. Ready to forget about Dorian and his wilful desires.  
  
Her old eyes watched the child leaver from just behind the door frame. She knew that there was something much more powerful going on and the Lord had chosen Rosaline, her Rosaline to be apart of his plan. The grip around the door frame tightened and her long nails bit into the wood slightly.  
  
"Even though I walk  
  
Through the valley of the shadow of death  
  
I will fear no evil.  
  
For you are with me.  
  
Lord please watch over Rosaline while I am gone, guide her and show her the path back to light."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Henry Jekyll sat at the back of a laboratory which a frown creasing his forehead. He couldn't work out a particular unknown compound and he had a deadline. He pinched the bridge of his nose in mild despair, wondering if he could get a message to Mina and ask her to come and help him.  
  
He idly wondered what Mina and Nemo were up to at the moment, Mina had been involved in caring for the wounded at one point. However she'd only really started in the last year of the war and now most of the men that were still living had returned home to be cared for by their families.  
  
Dr Jekyll on the other hand had volunteered as soon as the war started to join a special team of scientists who had analysed the German weapons and looked for weaknesses in them. He hadn't really found it very satisfying though, it was nice to think that by improving English weapons you were improving the soldier's chances of survival. He knew that wasn't the case though, he wasn't really the violent one. That was Edward.  
  
Sniffing slightly as he examined the powder once again he thought about Edward. He hadn't been bothered by his need for him so much lately. The horrors of the war had put all thoughts of violence and crime out of his head. Also he'd been so busy here in France in his job that he had pretty much occupied all hours of the day.  
  
He tipped a tiny amount of the powder out onto a glass slide and had just put it under the microscope when the door flew open and his harried looking assistant rushed in. He was gripping something in his hand and his normally wide eyes were even wider than ever.  
  
"Dr Jekyll! Dr Jekyll Sir! Urgent Telegram, came five minutes ago!"  
  
He thrust the piece of paper upon the surprised Doctor and promptly started rushing around the lab in the manner of a mad man. Jekyll looked at him with an expression of complete confusion. Shaking his head he looked down at the paper. Denethy was liable to over react sometimes.  
  
As he read however his hand flew to his mouth in horror,  
  
"Henry.  
  
We have received news from an unknown enemy that they have Tom prisoner and that they will kill him unless we reach a village in Romania at a set date. We have three days to get everyone together and get there.  
  
Nemo and I will be waiting at the port of Marseille tonight. It is vital that you are there, by what ever means it takes. Jekyll this man knew of the League's previous existence and he seems to want to destroy us. Please be there.  
  
Yours truly, Mina."  
  
His face paled and the hand that held the letter began to tremble, "Denethy, we must reach Marseille by this evening."  
  
Denethy bowed, "Indeed Dr Jekyll, but how? It is an almost impossible feat, the best way would probably be to get a plane, but as far as I know there are no planes going to Marseille today."  
  
Jekyll pocketed the powder without another thought and sprang to his feet. "Listen Denethy, you must pack my bag I'll probably be gone for quite a while so as many clean suits as you can find."  
  
Denethy looked at him, nodded, turned to go but then turned back hesitantly, "Please Dr Jekyll allow me to accompany you, you have become my friend through these dreadful times, and I have already lost my family to the war, I do not wish to loose you."  
  
Henry who had been pacing around trying to figure out how to persuade a pilot to take them to Marseille started at Denethy's request, "Well, I certainly wouldn't mind having a friend with me. It's just the League was something sort of personal. I guess you might as well come along, I warn you though, you will see some things that will offend the scientific principles we have been working with."  
  
Denethy nodded, "I understand. I'll go and get your things ready now, but I have absolutely no idea how we're going to get to the South of France tonight." He went out of the door and Jekyll's rather sensitive hearing picked up on his fading mutters about how pilots just weren't going to want to go out tonight.  
  
Quite suddenly a dreadful smile came into Jekyll's face and a voice which was only the faint echo of his own growled, "Don't worry, I have an old friend who would be more than happy to give us a hand."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Skinner was sitting in a very seedy water front bar and quite truthfully was revelling in it. There was nothing like the cheap aura of a tavern in the early Nineteen hundreds. There was nothing like their gullibility either. He found it a piece of cake going round stealing money here, taking a watch or ring there.  
  
He had tried to give up his ways, he honestly had but he decided that it was better to embrace ones true self rather than fight against it like Jekyll. At the moment though he was up to something much more important than wallowing in self pity. A recent telegram had informed him that a certain American Agent had managed to land himself in a spot of trouble.  
  
Now he had to drag himself out of his much wanted holiday in order to search for a pilot in order to fly to the South of France in order to meet Nemo and his cohorts. The only thing that warmed him to the task was the prospect of seeing Mina again. He knew that they weren't going to take off but she was a lovely woman to tease.  
  
At last a man in the unmistakable grey blue of a pilot uniform stepped into the pub. That was Skinner's cue. In his naked state he made his way over to where the man had just sat down and sat by him.  
  
The man's eyes flickered in his direction nervously as though he had sensed someone watching him but that he was hallucinating. Skinner smirked this was going to be so much fun.  
  
"Hallo old friend."  
  
The man paled visibly and he eyes flailed around wildly, "Who said that?"  
  
"Why you did."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yes, I'm you conscience."  
  
The man's face went from white to ashen grey and he downed the drink on his table all in one go. His hand shook as he replaced the glass on the table and wiped his lip. Skinner rolled his eyes and pressed on, didn't the idiot realise he was on a schedule?  
  
"Listen mate, you've done some pretty rough things in your life haven't you?"  
  
The man nodded silently, it seemed he had give into his own madness and was now lying with his head on the table. This would actually have been rather amusing to Skinner normally but he was worried about Tom, and he didn't want to be the reason why they didn't make it to the meeting place in Romania on time.  
  
"Well listen, I'm going to give you a chance to recompense for all those things."  
  
The man sniffed and brightened a little, "You are? You must be a nice conscience, I haven't heard of anyone else's doing that sort of thing."  
  
Idly Skinner wondered just how many men who had talked to their consciences this man knew. Repressing his sarcastic comment he finished, "You just have to fly to the south of France to the airport at Marseille."  
  
The poor pilot sat up and looked at the apparent thin air which Skinner occupied, "That's it?"  
  
"Well no" he paused uncertainly and finished off in a lame religious manner, "You have to go now and say your prayers on the beach there before the sun rises tomorrow. Or you'll be forever damned."  
  
A flustered sweat came over the man and he hurriedly paid for his drink. Stumbling out of the pub he half ran down the street to the airport; afraid that his conscience would suddenly turn nasty on him and he would never get a chance to repay his debt to humanity.  
  
As for Skinner, well he was literally laughing all the way.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Lame I know, but I was having writers block. It just struck me as a Skinner sort of thing to do.  
  
Before you go all Mary Sue thinking on me about Rosaline being all religious and innocent just hear me out. In Romania they are very superstitious ,anyone who's read Dracula will know that. They are also very strong Catholic Country, so really I'm just trying to make her character more believable and realistic. I know there are quite a few LXG fics which tie in Religion with the main character but I'm just trying to create diversity in my characters. It made sense to me that she should be like that, you tell me what you think in your reviews.  
  
Oh and the psalm they say is from the bible, number 23. I'm sure some of you will have heard it before. It's one of my favourites. ^^  
  
Gosh I feel confliction at the moment. I have just read Oscar Wilde's "The Picture Of Dorian Gray." And have consequently found that he's blonde originally! I had to come up with a way to work in the colour change, because I'm not really too keen on over writing Oscar Wilde in the favour of a film. (Yes, even though Stuart Townsend is one of the most sexy men I've seen ;-) ) Sadly though you'll probably have to wait for a chapter near the end to find out my reasoning.  
  
This is a special note for Lady Norbert, I'm glad I made your day with my review, you made mine with yours. ^^ For all of you who read my story, I recommend her story The Private Diary Of Elizabeth Quatermain. It's written superbly and I really do think that it's going places.  
  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please Review if you did or didn't, I'm open to criticism, I may not like it but that's how I'll improve on my writing, which is part of the reason why I make my work public.  
  
All the best,  
  
Emerald3 


	5. Chapter Four

The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Resurrected  
  
Chapter 4 – Austria and Abandonment  
  
The first thing Tom heard was a quiet murmur. He found that strange because he'd always thought that when you died you heard angel's singing. A savage headache raged through his head every time his pulse beat and he screwed up his face in pain.  
  
Swallowing slightly he co-ordinated some deep breathing and tried to at least slow his pulse. What was the last thing he could remember? First he was in the pub, then the note, then he escaped and then the riffle butt. He winced at the mere memory of the thick wood coming into contact with his skull. He wondered if it had done any permanent damage.  
  
He realised that the pain didn't seem so bad when he didn't think about it, so continuing to breath deeply he sought about seeing whether he could move the rest of his limbs. With some relief he found that his joints responded to his commands but he couldn't move his arms and legs because someone had conveniently tied them together.  
  
The next big step would be to open his eyes. Once he did that he would be able to assess the situation much more clearly. That was easier said, or rather thought, than done. The pain had seared fiercely through him every time he had tried to move his muscles and he was worried that if he saw any bright lights he might relapse back into a faint.  
  
Deciding to try and prove to himself that he could be a man, he opened them just a little. Thankfully there was no white light which signified that he was dead, or that signified that he was going to have a fearful stab of pain driven in. He swiftly shut them again and then after a brief pause he opened them about half way. Everything looked stunningly blurred and confusing. He could only make out a hazy grey brown colour so he closed his eyes once more. He vowed that he would open them all the way this time and keep them open. Even though the release into unconsciousness was rather inviting it wasn't exactly that productive.  
  
He eyes brows creased down into a frown as he fully opened his eyes and slowly blinked. At first they watered and then an over whelming tiredness came over them. Tom valiantly refused to give up his fight and soon his eyes were comfortably open and he was gazing up at a very high stone ceiling.  
  
"So nice of you to wake up Mr Sawyer."  
  
Tom jumped slightly at the sound of the voice and as a result jarred his head. The pain swept through again, but as a flash flood, soon died away. In general the pain was becoming less and less and he was starting to feel more and more angry. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
The man; for it was a man's voice he'd heard, cleared his throat and announced impressively, "I am Lord Schlasser Ussell."  
  
Tom couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the fairly ridiculous name and settled for repeating in a tone of complete disdain, "Schlasser Ussell? What kind of a name is that?"  
  
The unseen man exploded with what seemed like fury, although it could have been laughter for all Tom knew. "There was a time when my family had to stay in the German town of Hassel-Kassel due to some rather private issues going on at home. My mother thought it would be quaint to give me a name that reflected the town. Thankfully my father was adamantly opposed to having his son named Hassel. So instead my mother decided to mimic the excessive use of German sess in my name."  
  
Tom smothered another giggle and rolled his eyes, "Right. Anyway are we in said Hassel-Kassel?"  
  
"No. We are in the beautiful Austria, and in my home castle just south of the Semmering Pass."  
  
Frowning Tom tried to remember where Austria was in relation to the rest of Europe. He suddenly found it very annoying that you were always made to remember the countries of Western Europe but never those of the East. Maybe it was because they were more interesting and teachers couldn't afford to give them interesting lessons.  
  
Tom greeted the man's sudden insight into his confusion with mixed feelings; he did not like to be given aid, but he was fairly baffled as to where he was. "We are South of Vienna my dear boy, just next to the border of Hungary."  
  
Now Tom was almost in hysterics he wanted to know who this man was, why he was here, where here was in relation to America and whether he could get a pain killer. Deciding that a mass of mumbled questions probably wasn't going to have very much effect on Ussell he started slowly and clearly, "Who was the man who brought me here?"  
  
"That was my underlining Viscien. Due to certain circumstances it is better that I refrain from being in the public eye. Viscien completes errands for me. I suppose you might call him a hench-man or something of the sort."  
  
Tom was more awake now and the pain in his head was nothing more than a dull annoying throb. He had worked out that he was lying on a sofa which had a fairly panache air to it. The whole place well what he could see of it looked as though it had been furnished in early Halloween. If you had take a snapshot of this castle in the Medieval Times he was sure that nothing would have changed except the owner. At least he hoped the owner had changed.  
  
Speaking or rather thinking of the owner he realised that he couldn't actually see him. He came to the conclusion he must be standing behind the high back of the sofa and was therefore out of sight range. "I don't suppose it would be too stupid for me to ask why you had Viscien or whatever bring me here?"  
  
A definite laugh came from behind the sofa this time and Schlasser replied, "No, no at all. In fact it's a rather good question. A little obvious perhaps, but still good."  
  
From all that this man had said Tom was getting the impression of a stiff elderly gentlemen with greying hair. Probably one of those eccentric aristocrats left from the Edwardian era. He was wearing a dark grey suit in Tom's mind and maybe leaning on a polished wood walking stick.  
  
He tried his ropes again, they gave him a fraction of room to move but nothing more. The knots looked incredibly tight and Tom was beginning to wonder whether he'd be able to escape at all.  
  
"You are here Mr or rather Agent Sawyer, because you are part of a payment."  
  
Tom's eyebrow cocked and Schlasser must have realised how ambiguous that sounded for he carried on rapidly, "Please allow me to explain. I had you brought from Paris to Austria because a friend of mine is helping me out in a business endeavour. I believe he must have known you sometime because his price for helping was not money, it was revenge."  
  
Suddenly Tom had an insight and he blurted out, "I'm part of a trap aren't I. You're luring someone here with me aren't you?"  
  
Another low chuckle came from the man behind him, "Yes, I suppose you are bait. It's not me who's wanting to do the luring though. I believe he's an old friend of yours. He told me to inform you that he knew all about the League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and that he's had to cross the boundaries of life and death in order to be able to settle this score."  
  
Tom's mind whirled, who knew about the League apart from the members and Nemo's crew. Surely none of them would betray Nemo or any of the others. He had to cross the boundaries of life and death. Tom knew only one person who would hate them all enough to want to do something like that. "Moriarty", he growled and anger filled him. The murderer of Allan was alive! He'd send him right back where he came from. Oh yes he'd send him right back to Hell.  
  
"You might as well calm down Agent Sawyer. I tied those knots myself and I was a member of Navy for a good part of my life. They are not going to come undone no matter how much you pull them."  
  
"So, what you're saying is, I'm in some random Austrian noble's castle waiting my friends to arrive so that they can come and be killed?"  
  
Footsteps echoed as Schlasser moved over to an unseen table and poured himself a drink. Tom guessed it was probably quite a strong bit of alcohol as he wasn't pouring if for very long.  
  
"I'd offer you a drink." He replied mildly to Tom's rather dramatic statement, "But we'll be on the road soon. You've been asleep for nearly a whole day. You travelled by plane from France you see."  
  
"Where are we going?", asked Tom, now thoroughly perplexed. This made no sense what so ever. He was in a house in Austria, with some Lord who seemed to be plotting something. One of his accompaniers wanted the League as payment for his part in the plot. It could only be Moriarty really, but Tom was so sure he'd been dead. Then again he'd never actually seen the body himself, he had satisfied himself with knowing he was dead. Maybe he never really had died and it was all a sham.  
  
The question buzzed around and around, never ending, fogging up his mind like a thick mist in November. Ussell seemed to sense his confusion and he apologised, "Forgive me. I really don't think I've been terribly clear. Let's see how better to explain it."  
  
There was a few seconds silence as he mused on the task and then he cried, "Ah hah! I have it. Let me start right from the beginning."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Mina sat at the airport in Marseille looking distinctly irritated. They were late, they had another half an hour to get there or they were all doomed. Doomed to loose Tom and probably; as they would all blame each other as well as themselves, doomed to loose their friendship.  
  
They'd received correspondence from both Jekyll and Skinner to say that they were both on their way. And yet, none of them were going to get there before 11'o'clock that night. Mina didn't honestly mind being up late. For her the night was nicer than the day. So much more claming, so much quieter. But then again she would find the hours of darkness more appealing wouldn't she? She was a Daughter of the Night after all.  
  
Once they were altogether they had two days to reach Romania. Thankfully it was near the North of the country where they had to travel and Nemo would explain the route to them when they were altogether aboard the ship. Mina knew it would be the best way possible, he had been planning it, checking it and double checking it to make sure. He'd even sent men on ahead to make sure certain points that could pose trouble were clear and they would have an easy passage through.  
  
Suddenly her sharp ears picked up the low hum of an engine and indeed it became louder and louder. Soon it seemed right on top of the building and then it stopped altogether. She hoped beyond hope it was either Jekyll or Skinner.  
  
The door flew open with a huge bang and a man in a rather crumpled blue- grey suit flew through the building to the exit at the far end. He rushed out, and then scrambled back in to smartly salute the officer on duty.  
  
Mina was watching the disappearing figure rather closely trying to decide whether Jekyll or Skinner would be more likely to have that kind of effect. The doors from the airfield flew open once more, and in walked Skinner, cool as the proverbial cucumber. He grinned at her, thankfully he was in full make up so she had no need to worry about him sneaking up on her like before. He strode up to her and said mildly, "Alright Mina, what's the idiot gone and done now?"  
  
"I suppose you were responsible for the mental state of the man who came through here moments ago."  
  
Skinner spread his arms wide and put on an innocent demeanour, "You said, and I quote, "do whatever it takes" to get here on time."  
  
Mina's eyebrow rose, "And what, pray tell, did you do exactly?"  
  
Skinner gave a cough and turned away from her slightly, "I err . . . impersonated his conscience. I told him he had to say the Lord's Prayer on the beach here before the sun rose tomorrow or he'd be" he turned to her in a rather pleading manner and finished, "eternally damned?"  
  
Her expression changed rapidly from disbelief, to disapproval, to dismissive and then finally to one of happiness. "You Mr Skinner are a thief of more things than just material objects."  
  
He perked up and regained some of his jaunty manner, "And what exactly do you mean by that Mina dearest? I'm afraid I don't quite follow."  
  
"I mean you've stolen my affection." She paused and an inner battle took place in a matter of mille-seconds, "In short I've missed you Skinner."  
  
"Oh, well I'm touched. To be honest I've missed you too. All the spying for the British government was fun and all, but there's nothing like the company of a friend is there."  
  
Mina smiled and relaxed slightly, "No indeed there isn't. You seem to have grown up slightly you're full of such soul searching statements and," she eyed the door where the pilot had fled from down to the beach, "soul searching ideas as well."  
  
Skinner's white face gave her a cheeky grin, but then returned to a fairly sombre expression that had haunted him quite a lot recently. "So what's dear old Agent Sawyer managed to do now?"  
  
The mention of his name had a similar effect on Mina and the brief joy of their reunion soon faded back into the hopeless circle of worry, anger and fear. "He's got himself kidnapped, we believe by someone working with Moriarty."  
  
"Hang about, isn't Moriarty dead?"  
  
"Apparently not.", sighed Mina. She glanced over Skinner's shoulder impatiently "Oh Henry where are you, we really, really have to get going."  
  
"The old boy not here yet? Maybe he had trouble getting a plane. It's not easy impersonating someone's conscience you know."  
  
"Skinner, please none of your sob stories just now." Her eyes set on him and gave him a glare. Then quite abruptly she pushed right past him. "Oh at last. Henry where have you been?"  
  
Skinner turned to see the impeccably dressed Dr Jekyll stroll through the door from the air field. Beside him was a short stocky man tottering around off balance due to the two suitcases he was carrying.  
  
"You going on holiday Jekyll?"  
  
"Good evening Mr Skinner, and no. It was my assistant's idea. I had a hard time controlling Edward when he looked in them on the way over. Denethy seems to have brought everything that's not useful for anything."  
  
"My, my aren't we in a bad mood."  
  
It has to be said that Jekyll's immediate suspicion of Skinner in their past exploit had some what hurt Skinner's feelings. The two had never really got over the bad start to their friendship and although they didn't dislike each other as such there was always some sort of rivalry going on between them. Jekyll and Edward had always had a faint soft spot for Mina and they both sensed Skinner as a threat to any chance they may have with her.  
  
Skinner thought the whole thing was quite amusing and as a result had played it up quite well. He did like Mina, she was a very beautiful and powerful woman. But deep down Skinner knew she'd never love him like he wanted and he had the sense not to ruin his friendship with her by trying to make it something it could never be.  
  
"Really you two, don't you ever stop?" Came the soothing but obviously irritated voice of Mina, "Jekyll I don't suppose you'd care to explain your entourage?"  
  
Jekyll gave her a tired smile and said, "This is Benjamin Denethy. My assistant from back in London. He read your telegram, realised I would be leaving and begged to come with me. We've grown quite close through the war and he has no family to return to while the laboratory is closed. He's quite harmless, I didn't think anyone would be opposed to having him."  
  
Denethy for his part stuck his head out from behind the suitcase and gave them a heart warming smile. Mina closed her eyes into a frown for a moment and then held up her hand as a sign of submission. She honestly didn't see what harm the man could do, perhaps he'd help Jekyll control Hyde. She could tell that from his tense mood he was having a lot of trouble with his alter ego. The complete lack of being able to do anything to help Tom was giving him a lust for power and domination. One that Edward would be only to happy to fill.  
  
Skinner was looking at Jekyll curiously a humorous suspicion growing in his mind, "You've not gone homo have you Harry?"  
  
All the ears that heard that particular question went a deep shade of read and Mina looked at him her expression aghast. Denethy felt himself go hot and was glad that he had to cover of the suitcases to hide his blush. Jekyll's ears went red, but that was his only sign of embarrassment he jaw clenched and inside he heard Hyde murmur, "Let me out Henry and I'll pound that piece of fil-"  
  
"No!", he cried and then smoothly he covered their argument with a softer, "No, I have not gone "homo" as you put it. How dare you even suggest such a thing. Denethy and I have been through a lot of hard times together and I didn't want him left on his own with no where to go. Now do you think we could please get on with the job in hand."  
  
His hands shook slightly and Skinner could see the sweat starting to break. He wondered whether he'd pushed Jekyll a bit too far, but thankfully Mina was there swiftly to head off any possible confrontation. "Of course Henry, it was good of you to get here as soon as you could. Mr Denethy if you'll just follow me. Once we're aboard Nemo's ship we'll see to some accommodation for you."  
  
She shot a look of venom at Skinner and hissed, "And you Mr Skinner should very well be quite and stop making ridiculous comments. Try listening to your own conscience for once."  
  
Skinner gave the black clothed woman a smirk and wordlessly took a suitcase off poor Denethy. Ben muttered his thanks profusely and then hesitantly asked Skinner where his legs were. Mina took a deep breath and then an idea came to her, "Skinner why don't you fill Mr Denethy in on the history of the League and its members. That should keep you out of trouble."  
  
Skinner nodded and lowly started telling Denethy of their adventures in Mongolia and Venice. Mina meanwhile walked next to Jekyll and he asked her quietly "So what have you found out?"  
  
"We believe that Moriarty is behind it the-"  
  
Jekyll interrupted, "Isn't Moriarty dead?"  
  
"We all thought so, but none of us saw the body in the end. Except that is for Tom who shot him."  
  
Nodding Jekyll asked, "So Moriarty's got Tom in order to lure us to our deaths? That sounds like the sort of thing that he'd do. I just can't believe he's not dead though. And why didn't he go for you, or Nemo or even me?"  
  
"I have two answers to that, who better to use as bait than the boy who almost, and I say almost with dread, took his life? And also out of all of us Tom was the easiest target. I mean you would have turned into Edward, Nemo's got the protection of his ship, his crew, his sword and his martial arts. And I, let's just say that my natural instincts would take over."  
  
All of this made sense to Jekyll and he agreed all the way. Tom would have been by far the best target, but he was just so sure that Moriarty had died. He'd seen the body being taken away by Government officials, there was just that little snag that annoyed him. Quietly Edward told him that he was being far to suspicious he should let a real man do the thinking, he should let him out.  
  
Only Mina being near him and Denethy behind him kept him from giving into the hopelessness of the situation. "We go to find him then?"  
  
Mina nodded, "Indeed."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
"Rosaline you have to free me soon. I don't think you love me."  
  
Rosaline lay by Dorian, giving into him quicker and quicker every time she met him in her dream. The advice Naina had given her had been useless. She knew it as soon as night had come, Dorian knew it as soon as he's heard her blurt out to her mistress over dinner that Naina had gone.  
  
He had been very worried when she had fled from the house that morning. He knew she'd got an old friend who she talked to but he didn't know how good their advice would be.  
  
"Do you want me to be trapped forever?" He persisted dramatically, "Do you hate me that much?"  
  
Rosaline sat up, her hair askew and her face framed with rose petals that had become entwined in her locks. "I don't hate you Dorian. Please don't hate me. I love you really, but I don't know how to free you."  
  
"You haven't even tried thinking about it." He retorted cruelly, "I shall leave you and go back to your Mistress. Is that what you want ? Will you drive me away with your evilness like you drove Naina away?"  
  
Rosaline's eyes widened considerably and tears sprang to her eyes, "I didn't – It wasn't-I couldn't . . ." she paused unable to form a coherent sentence until she asked curiously, "How do you know about that?"  
  
"I know so much about you Rosaline. I listen to you and your Mistress every day. I know you'd never want anything to hurt her." He stressed the word anything and then carried on, "I suppose you'd be terribly upset if she just happened to go walking in her sleep and fall down the stairs."  
  
Her heart screamed out to her to run to leave him, to pray, but instead she flung herself upon him and crying softly she said, "Oh Dorian you wouldn't. Please don't do anything like that I'll think about how I could do it. It's just I really don't understand why you think I can do it."  
  
Dorian gave her his infamous smirk and replied coolly, "Just try darling I have full faith in you."  
  
The word faith seemed to reverberate through Rosaline like a great church bell ripples through a sleepy town. Her hand strayed down to her cross and it all hit her like a flash.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
"I'm a friend."  
  
"Yes from Greece."  
  
"Old, old woman on your death bed."  
  
"Asclepius and the line of Iaso."  
  
"Free me please."  
  
"Through the valley of the shadow of death."  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Fell down the stairs."  
  
"I will fear no evil."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
She pushed away from his, his crisp grey suit seemed to reflect the flames of Hell. His dark and laughing eyes watched her with nothing but ice.  
  
He hadn't counted on this particular piece of rebellion. Trust him to use the wrong word. He should have known that "faith" would remind her of the God she believed in so much. Dorian was going through a religious crisis himself at the moment, he had no wish to share in other's.  
  
"So what are you going to do Rosaline?", he asked calmly, "Stab me with that thing?"  
  
Her hand shook and he advanced on her, taking advantage of her unstable state, "You know no one but that old woman of yours would believe you. They'd call you a child of the damned and lock you away. You can't run Rosaline, you can't hide from yourself and now there's no one to turn to for advice."  
  
"Th-the L-L-Lord", she stammered, "W-w-will p-p-protect m-me."  
  
Dorian allowed himself to become visibly more relaxed. He wondered what card to play next. The whole thing could rely on this next move, this girl's sanity may rely on it. He looked at her, she was standing on the edge of an abyss. One breath in the wrong direction she would toppled into a never ending darkness. One tiny push in the right direction and she'd land on the sunny grounds of home.  
  
"Rosaline, you don't need the Lord's protection."  
  
She blinked in confusion at looked at him through bleary eyes, "I –I d-d- don't?"  
  
He knew he had made the right choice and slowly he started to calm the entire situation back down. "No because I'll protect you. I love you, and I know you love me."  
  
She nodded blindly any straight thoughts now disappearing once more into the intoxicating promises of his love, "But I can't protect you if I'm stuck in your dreams and in my portrait. Would you agree?"  
  
"You promise you only want to help me? And that if I let you out you'll not hurt my Mistress?"  
  
He nodded slowly. This whole charade was rather annoying actually. Dorian had long given up the innocent smitten lover act. He liked passionate romances now, something with fire.  
  
What he liked, loved, hated and lusted for was Mina. It was a complicated array of emotions, some that he didn't even understand himself. There were times when he wished he had killed her back in Mongolia and there were times where the very memory of her face brought up such a choking flash of pure wantonness that even he felt himself blush.  
  
Dorian had revelled in his little piece of espionage for Moriarty. Although he hadn't gone into it completely willingly he'd soon found that playing the role of evil had its definite highlights. What he hadn't realised was that everyone who's evil in episodes like that meet a horrid end. Even Immortals who are still stupidly in love with their killer.  
  
No that it mattered now, Mina hated him. He had left her twice with the same promises of love that he was giving Rosaline and he knew she'd never take him back. It didn't matter once he was free and the fire between him and Rosaline had died he'd move on. He'd find a new Sibyl, a new Rosaline and one day he'd find a new Mina.  
  
"Yes, I promise I'll not hurt your mistress."  
  
Rosaline moved back over to him, the field of love now drawing her close in the same irresistible way that the field of hate had repelled her. He looked down at her pale face and gently ran a hand through her dark brown hair. So similar to his and yet so wildly different in appearance.  
  
"I'll never love anyone but you.", he promised. Such a piece of treachery can only be compared with the Trojan Horse. This was the sweet lettuce of Passover that turned bitter once you chewed it. This was the pharaoh's promise of the Israelites' freedom as the first wave of plagues hit Egypt. This was deception in its greatest form but Rosaline, Rosaline saw nothing in his eyes but truth and love.  
  
"I'll always love you too Dorian."  
  
They kissed for the final time and his awakening in two days was sealed. The League would be there to witness his grand triumph, his escape from limbo. Then he'd take Mina and they would make their get away, all the way to Versailles. Just in time for him to fulfil his part of his deal with Schlasser.  
  
There was one small problem with Rosaline however. He couldn't risk for her to have remembering sessions like what had just passed. He needed her to stay under the spell of his seduction. So as she was overwhelmed by the deluge of her feelings his expert fingers swiftly unclasped her crucifix and he surreptitiously pocketed it. That would be her last link to any sanity gone. Tomorrow a fever of madness would over take her, it would start off fairly mildly and then the next morning it would sweep over her mind and body. She'd be able to think of nothing but him and on that second night . . .  
  
He'd be free.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Dun Dun Duh . . . So Dorian's almost free. The League have met up and next chapter Schlasser will explain to Tom his master plan. Or some of it at least there would be no plot twists if I told you all of it. ^^  
  
I need to take this opportunity to thank some reviewers who make my day every time they press that "submit review" button.  
  
Xini :- What can I say, Tom Sawyer, sugar high, cheese and of course the ever immortal "Growl."  
  
Clez :- Just thank you for giving my story the time of day. I've started a couple of yours and I shall say to everyone READ THEM, for they are fantastic. : D  
  
Lady Norbert :- Yet again you make me feel soooooo happy. I look forward to reading your sequel story. I hope you had a good Easter and thank you for continuing with my story.  
  
Kate :- I'm glad you like this story. I'm having a ball writing it. I hope this chapter meets up with your expectations on Dorian.  
  
And finally funyun :- Your reviews are always very helpful. You take the time to give quite a detailed view of the chapter and helps me immensely. I will be looking you up soon as an author very soon.  
  
Now onto some bad news. There won't be another chapter up for about a week as I'm going away. Don't loose hope though, I shall be up and kicking probably by next Wednesday.  
  
The chapters though may come slower because I'll have school work, and in about three weeks I have public exams so I'll need to focus on them. There should be about 17 chapters in this story and an Epilogue so I'm on 4 at the moment. I'd say this could take quite a long time. Lol.  
  
Anyways review soon  
  
All the best  
  
Emmy. 


	6. Chapter Five

The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Resurrected

Chapter 5 - Three Days Till Dawn

Schlasser sat down in an armchair just opposite Tom; he seemed to be watching him strangely. A minute ago he had been extremely eager to talk but now his fingers rested upon his bottom lip as he pondered something unbeknown to Tom.

The spy was beginning was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable and wished that he could sit up. The trouble was that having his ankles and wrists latched together tightly didn't make the idea of balancing while sitting up look very prosperous.

The Austrian Count opened his mouth finally to speak, but the some doors behind Tom burst open. Schlasser's mouth closed again and he pulled himself to his feet. Tom noted the suppleness and the ease with which he moved. There was a lot more to this man than met the eye.

In fact Tom wondered what he actually knew about Schlasser now he had seen his face. Tome had been right in the fact that he was old, but not as old as he had pictured. His once jet black hair had now gone iron grey and there were obvious lines of age on his face. He had poise that matched the aristocracy of his speech and he seemed to remind Tom of someone, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Overall Schlasser had told Tom nothing, neither with words or his appearance, except for the fact of course, that he had very nice suits.

There was a murmur behind him going on that was similar to what he had heard when he first woke up. He was now able to distinguish two voices, but to his dismay they were discussing things in German,

"Ah, Fishcien."

_Ah Fishcien._

"Ich heisse Viscien, nicht Fishcien."

_I am called Viscien, not Fishcien._

"Ist das Auto bereit?"

_Is the car ready?_

"Ja. Was muss Ich mache mit deiner Gast."

_Yes. What must I do with your Guest?_

"Nichts shon."

_Nothing yet._

"Werden wir ihn lösen?"

_Are we going to untie him?_

"Nein, ich habe keine Vertauen in ihm."

_No. I don't trust him._

"Fein."

_Fine_

"Wir gehen in halbe Stunde. Stellen Sie sicher, daß alles bereit ist."

_We leave in half an hour. Make sure that everything is ready._

"Ja Herr Ussell."

_Yes Mr Ussell._

Tom gave up trying to understand what they were on about very quickly. His head still wasn't right and straining his ears and limited knowledge of German at the same time was just not good for it. He did manage to conclude however that they were either talking about their plans, him, or both other wise they wouldn't feel the need to conceal what they were saying. Somewhere deep inside him he felt a note of pride, they thought he was to dangerous to talk freely around. Maybe he finally was building up a reputation. 

Footsteps faded away and there was the sound of t he doors scraping shut as Viscien left. Tom was proud that he had at least managed to pick that up, every small thing counts he had been told. After all, the entire world runs on the shoulders of small things so really they were quite important. He also decided that when he got back to America to report all of this he'd lodge a formal statement, expressing the importance of Agents being trained more in foreign languages. 

The reader of this tale will note of course that Tom thought, "When" he did not think "If." This is because Tom was a self confessed optimist. I find it bad for your blood pressure to be optimistic, you face such big let down. But in Tom's case I don't think it was entirely his fault. I have a theory that it has something to do with growing up in almost constant sunshine. I have yet to meet an optimistic British person.

Well what do you expect with all that rain and cloudy skies?

After a brief interval the slow and formal step of Schlasser's reached Tom's ear and he knew that he was coming back. He hoped that he would jump straight to talking and miss out all the tapping on bottom lips this time. He really wanted to know why on Earth he was here. Being kidnapped was an insult in itself, but not knowing why, when he was the spy was just adding the injury. Although technically he thought it was also fairly literal in his case, he had been injured and he was feeling more than a little insulted.

His philosophical wonderings were cut short however when the iron voice of Schlasser broke the silence. "Forgive me Mr Sawyer, I had to discuss some things with Viscien. You may have picked up that I miss pronounced his name."

He looked inquiringly at Tom, who wasn't quite quick enough to pick up on what he was doing. The blank look on his face told Schlasser exactly what he wanted to hear; Tom did not understand German. He gave him a small smile and then smoothly covered his tracks by saying, "It's our little standing joke. When I first met him, it was at a fish market and it was how I remembered him."

Tom rose his eyebrow as the man began to chuckle at the fond memory. Schlasser in turn noticing the expression stopped himself and regained the cold and banal outside he always wore. "Now anyway as I was saying, the reason why I had you brought here. I hope you will understand I cannot reveal to you everything. You see I have heard a lot about you and I know that you will be as slippery as an eel always trying to wriggle out of my grasp. I will not tell to you everything because should you escape you will ruin me and my plans."

Tom finally decided that he was fed up with feeling small and helpless in front of the man, and with as much grace as he could manage he swung his feet down off the sofa and using his stomach muscles, pulled himself up into a sitting position.

Schlasser watched him demurely and then deciding that Tom was quite finished started to explain. "As a young man who fought during the war I am sure you will have been watching the news about it quite closely at the moment."

Feeling that he should add something more to this conversation than blank looks Tom nodded, "Of course. This Wednesday they're signing the Peace Treaty in the Palace of Versailles."

Inclining his head approvingly Schlasser continued, "And I'm sure then that you'll be aware who suffers most from this treaty." He left no time for Tom to answer his question and he could tell from the anger in the mans' voice he was not happy, "Germany and its sister country Austria. We will loose so much, our close ties with each other, our colonies, our land, our troops, our power to help our people."

Tom had definitely been right about the man being unhappy, in fact now his expression seemed to be verging on livid. Idly Tom wondered whether he was just about to become the victim of rant that Schlasser had been practising for weeks. If he could, he would have put his head in his hands. Schlasser had now revealed himself to be one of those patriotic German-Austrians who objected strongly to the fact that they were no longer to be united.

"No country should be faced with that. We were blamed with the war as well Agent Sawyer. Germany took the entire blame on their shoulders, and yet it wasn't just Germany. There were many, many reasons. The expanding empires of Britain and France made Germany feel insecure. The formation of the Triple Entrente, Germany surrounded by hostile ground. I will not say that Germany or Austria is blameless but there were many other factors involved. You look confused Mr Sawyer, surely this would be old news to an intelligent boy like you."

Frowning Tom replied, "No it's not that, it's just I thought all your lands were in Austria. And from what I've heard Austria isn't coming off that badly from the Treaty."

"Agent Sawyer, it is a case of blood and kinship. Germany and Austria have been closely tied always together. My heritage originates from Germany. Germany is in my blood. I can not bear to see my noble country of birth be, be" he struggled to find a word which described the situation well enough, "squashed, by the big super powers of America, Britain and France. But anyway, we side track. My plan is to destroy this treaty,"

"You'll bring the whole of Europe to its knees!", blurted out Tom with all the tact of a warthog.

"No!", he cried then, "No.", more softly. "I will bring no continent to its knees. I do not seek to do anything like that. There is a second dimension to my plan, one that you will never be able to imagine. You can never fathom the workings of a sane mad mans' mind after all. I will not tell you of this element, but it requires the help of two people. Both of which currently reside in Romania."

He paused, "I made contact with this old acquaintance of mine in 1899, just before all this turmoil started to climax. And then suddenly our correspondence stopped, I looked into the matter and found him to be deceased. I thought no more of it but to buy one of the few pictures of him at an auction. He was a dear friend and I did want to remember him. But then the war came, and then the cruel betrayal and blame of Germany and it made my blood boil."

He burst to his feet and began to pace listlessly, "I've been planning this since they started to plan the treaty. I've been planning this since the calls to bring Germany to its knees began. I found the way to resurrect the friend of mine. This friend with qualities unmatched, yes I found the only girl on this Earth capable of bringing him back."

Tom couldn't help but brighten at the word girl, sometimes he forgot himself completely. Even true mourners cannot grieve forever; he'd learned tha the hard way. Schlasser chuckled at him, and Tom settled for giving him the look that he gave criminals that were beneath him.

"Yes, so he will be alive soon, and in return for helping me successfully I give him you. The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen."

_Nemo stood in front of a large map of Europe. In front of him sat Mina, Jekyll, Denethy, and Skinner was probably around somewhere. Mina noted that when he became upset or worried by something he tended towards his invisibility. It was like his protective cover to hide his true feelings from the world. The ironic thing was, his cover was invisible._

"This S.U. has taken Tom. He sent us two messages, one yesterday the other a mere hour ago." 

"I have sent your friends aboard Nemo's ship, two messages."

_"One explained what happened to Tom, the other that we must be at the location given by this Sunday night, or they will kill Tom." Nemo held in his hand the first copies of the messages. "They also contain all the information about what has happened to Tom. For those who don't know he was on a job, which had been commanded right from the mouth of President Wilson. The American Secret Service was closely watching all the politicians in all the European countries that had stirred up trouble about the Peace Treaty."_

"I of course picked you up in France, or rather Viscien picked you up. You were watching that French politician; he was under the sole control of my bribery. His objection to the Treaty was real, but once I learned that you were the one watching him I bribed him to lead you to that particular pub." 

_Mina now picked up Nemo's thread and filled Jekyll, Skinner, and Denethy in a little more, "The last we heard from him was a Morse code message the night before he went missing. It told us he was following the man into the town tomorrow. He was covering ground he did not know, we believe that with this weakness in mind this S.U. struck and struck hard."_

"I told them that they must be in Romania in 3 days time. And of course that applies to us as well. There we shall pick up my esteemed friend and the girl I mentioned before. Hopefully she will come more than willingly. I believe she is by now quite attached to him."

_Nemo now took up a thin pointed stick and stepping to the left of the map, moved the tp along the sea between Italy and the South Coast of France. "We travel from Marseille down through the Ligurian Sea past Genoa."_

"Captain Nemo will set a course from the South Coast of France past Genoa, and then through the Tyrrhenian Sea. We can be sure about the time it will take him as long as he goes through the Straight of Messina between Sicily and Italy."

_"We will then go through the narrow channel between Italy and Sicily."_

Jekyll looked up at the map, his head cocked as though he was thinking about something. Then deciding to pick up the courage he asked out right, "How long is this route going to take us?"

Nemo nodded at the question, it was a fair one, even he was unsure. He pondered whether to tell the truth or not. Somehow though he had an inclination that Jekyll would pick him up if he was economical. "I can't be sure Doctor. This according to my charts and distances is the shortest route we can take." 

Quite suddenly Skinner chimed in from somewhere behind them, "Personally I don't think it matters."

Jekyll felt a slight twinge of annoyance, but Mina was the quicker of them, "Pray tell what's enlightened you with this opinion Mr Skinner."

"Easy Mina, easy. It's not that I don't care about Tom, but I just think that If I'd waited this long to get revenge I wouldn't blow it all away like that. I'd want to wait until I had a firm hold on all of us. Tom's just leverage, the time limit to make the threat look real."

"I am relying on your friends to be on time Mr Sawyer, what they will not realise is how strict my time limit is. I must be at Versailles by late afternoon Tuesday. We need that time to place our little bomb and for my men to get into their positions. If they are not there, I'm afraid we'll simply have to kill you. I can't afford to have someone who knows this much running around alive."

"Maybe you are right Skinner," Mina replied, a little more calmly than before, "But personally I'd hope we do make it on time."

Nemo let the dispute die down and then carried on, "Then it's up through the Ionian Sea, through the Straight of Oranto, up through the Adritatic Sea, through the small Islands of Yugoslavia to the port of Rijeka."

Tom watched Schlasser, this whole thing had been most carefully calculated. The entire meticulous planning that separated the minds of the determined, to those of the devoted. The queer names of the seas and Straights that Schlasser was reeling off gave him a headache, and he hoped he might show him a map as to where they actually were, and where they were going.

"We cannot be sure where Nemo will go from there, but I have a personal suspicion that he will fly. Word has it that he has been building an excellent passenger plane to keep him occupied during the war. We on the other hand will move to Romania in a car this afternoon. We will stay at the town of Timisoara until word reaches me that Nemo is approaching Austria. As soon as they disembark from the Nautilus they will be closely watched. It is vital that we reach Lugoj just before them."

_"We will take a new mode of transport from Rijeka and we'll reach Romania in a day after that. Men have already gone ahead with my new contraption and supplies for us. The entire thing has been completely thought out. I have calculated that if we travel night and day at full speed we should reach Rijeka all right. It is impossible for anyone to track my machines, and we ourselves cannot be tracked. What you must understand is we have to try and reach that house before S.U. and Moriarty, it is vital to our success."_

*********************************************************************

**Saturday 25th June 1919**

Rosaline is ill, the poor girl. I think she may be suffering from a bout of influenza. The child has been doing some rather odd things though lately. I think she must have picked up the illness yesterday morning. She ran off into the town at the crack of dawn to speak to that dear old friend of hers. I think she must have had a bad dream or something. What bothers me however is that she doesn't feel she's able to come to me with these things. Maybe she feels a little too embarrassed about it.

Anyway, I listened to a delightful concert from Vienna on the wireless today. It's all to celebrate the peace Treaty of course. I cannot for the life of me think what Germany may have to celebrate though. From what I have understood about it they came off rather badly. Still they did cause much of this strife, it's not fair that they should go unpunished.

I was rather lonely at dinner; Rosaline had some cold meat left over from last night, so I made a meal out of that and some bread and cheese. Thinking back to Rosaline she did seem rather panicky as well. I watched her sleep for a while and she twisted and turned and thumped at her pillow like she was trying to fight it. Most queer behaviour. If she does not pick up tonight I will call the doctor to come and look at her. She's not normally one susceptible to such diseases.

In fact, I think now that she has finally succumbed to it she's taken it rather badly. This afternoon her temperature was extremely high, and she was panicky and her eyes had the brightness of one who has a fever. In an effort to soothe her I tried talking to her about every day things and we came to discuss that strange portrait. I told her how it made me feel uncomfortable, like the man in the picture was watching us and didn't like me. I mentioned that I had been thinking about selling it. I can't describe how quickly she changed, at first she was calm, then she went into a great fury. She managed to suppress herself but I could see how she bottled up the scream of frustration and how her knuckles went white as she gripped the bedspread. Then finally, she burst into a flood of tears and begged me not to sell it.

The whole thing is really quite alarming. I've just let her sleep after that incident. Now the atmosphere is quite thick and oppressive. I have had a look outside and there are clouds forming. I think we are finally going to have that long overdue storm. I just hope it is over quickly; I really don't like thunder that much.

*********************************************************************

Right now, Authors notes.

I expect you're wondering what on Earth is going on, and are a little confused about the time frame. Let me explain. Basically I want to naturally further the story. The reason why I had both explanations of the League's process going on at once is because I wanted to create a sense of time movement.

By finishing with an extract of the Mistress' journal on the Saturday afternoon, I meant that all the characters had reached that stage. Next time we meet the League and Schlasser they will both be in Romania racing to the house. I did this because travel in stories is very hard and boring to write unless there's actually something to do with the plot going on.

Also I'm trying different writing types because I have exams coming soon in English and I want to practise lots of different styles. Treat it like you would have treated Bram Stoker's different diary extracts, the story will come together when all the points of view meet.

Dorian will appear not next chapter, but the chapter after so all your patience will be rewarded. But Schlasser wasn't joking when he said there was a second element to his plot and believe me there is. There is a lot more excitement to come, not least I've got to start working out some loves triangles, or in my case I suppose knots would be a better descriptive word.

Indecently if you're wondering whether the places are real or not, they are. That goes for the German as well.

Oh and please forgive any mistakes in formatting, it's the first time I've done something like this.

Wish me luck for my exams,

Emmy.


	7. Chapter Six

The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Resurrected  
  
Chapter Six - Rosaline's Story  
  
Schlasser looked out of the window, it was clouding over. That had to be a good sign. It wouldn't have been right had his plans been carried out in sunshine, there was no cover for illegal activity. Plus which, sunshine always seemed to be an emblem of happiness. Schlasser hadn't been happy for a long time, he hadn't been happy for years. No one seemed to make allowances for him, no one cared whether he had loved and lost. They were always so wrapped up in there own feelings. In fact, it reminded him of a line in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.  
  
"I was adored once too."  
  
Somehow that seemed to sum everything up for him. He had been a family man once, before certain things cropped up. His nose twitched and he turned around to look at Tom. The Agent had been untied, he couldn't really go anywhere from a moving car. Also, the boy had no idea where they were, so it wouldn't be terribly sensible for him to run off.  
  
In order to break up the aggressive silence he asked, "So, would you like to ask anything else about what has been going on. I feel that the prior explanation was a little rushed."  
  
Tom looked up at him, he said nothing. There was really nothing to say after all. He had understood Schlasser and Moriarty's plan exceedingly well. It seemed to sum up bringing Europe to breaking point, not that there was much effort needed in that task. And of course exterminating the League.  
  
He knew Mina and Nemo and the others would be on their way there. The thought however didn't comfort him, he wished he could tell them of the plan and stop them from rushing to their probable deaths. He wondered how Moriarty planned to kill Mina, as far as he knew Vampires were of the Undead. Did that mean Mina was dead already, or that she just couldn't die. He was sure she had explained it to him once or twice, there was something about her being only half vampire, but for the life of him Tom couldn't remember what it was.  
  
The barren rocky ground flew by the window, and Tom found himself wondering what it might be like to be a rock. Boring, was the first word that came to mind, and slow. It seemed to be like his situation, he was moving slowly from one position of extremes to another. Schlasser didn't seem worried by his silence and he carried on in that same normal tone.  
  
"Of course, now we're off to Romania, to pick up my accomplice and Rosaline. Oh, course, I never explained to you about Rosaline did I. I suppose I can tell you why she's special, I just will have to be extremely careful. Do you want to know or are you going to sit there and sulk for the rest of the journey. It's quite rude you know."  
  
For some reason the man's tone was infuriating Tom. He sounded so calm, so sane, it was like Tom was his guest not his victim. He had said nor done anything which had physically caused Tom harm. The only time he had lost his temper was when he was talking about the lost unity of Germany and Austria. He swivelled his eyes towards the old man and shrugged, "Guess so, I haven't got anything else to do all day."  
  
"You know, you might as well stop putting me through this. I didn't choose to have you brought into this. I'm just a man who will do anything for what he believes, I don't like to throw away life Mr Sawyer, it's something that should be respected."  
  
He straightened up a little in his seat and angled himself more towards Tom, realising that he would not make the effort to face him. "Rosaline's ability, is something to do with her heritage, her full name is Rosaline Iaso. The clue of course is all in her surname, do you by chance know who Iaso is?"  
  
Tom frowned, truthfully he had no idea no idea who the person was, but taking an educated he said, "Someone from a legend?" It seemed quite a good answer to him, it would hopefully be vaguely right, and seeing as most interesting powers and stories were rooted in Myth it couldn't go too far wrong.  
  
Schlasser laughed and nodded, "A little imprecise, but a good answer none the less. Iaso is one of the daughters of the Greek God Asclepius. His story was quite tragic really, his father was the God Apollo, his mother was killed for infidelity and Asclepius was only just saved himself. He grew to work as a healer, but one day he raised a man from death for a sum of money. This angered Zeus greatly and he killed Asclepius. However Zeus realised that Asclepius had actually done a lot of good as well in the field of medicine. He allowed him to join the gods, and Aclepius became the God of Healing. He left behind on Earth five daughters, one of which was Iaso. His line was carried down - "  
  
Tom had followed Schlasser with actual interest this time, and he was able to finish of his sentence, "Right down to Rosaline, or whoever."  
  
"Indeed", Schlasser nodded, "However don't run away with the idea that she can heal upon will. It doesn't work like that. She has to feel that there is a desperate need for her to use the power, and then she has to call for it to channel through her. So really she isn't the one with the power, it is her ancestor Asclepius who still possesses the power."  
  
Frowning Tom replayed what Schlasser and had said, Rosaline didn't actually have the power she just asked for it from her great squared grandfather and he channelled it through her. But something else bothered him, the man had said that Rosaline needed to feel a great need to do this, which meant there had to be a big problem at the time.  
  
His look of comprehension must have been exceedingly obvious for Schlasser wore a smug look as he watched him with those unblinking eyes, "Yes, but do you know that Asclepius still yearns to help here on earth. Do you have any idea what it must be like having a God trying to force his power through you? I've been told it's made her quite unstable. Every reaction she experiences is amplified at least ten times above the normal standard."  
  
Tom listened to this speech and wandered what this Rosaline would be like. Probably a shivering wreck of a person, but anyway none of it mattered, "I don't see how you can expect me to believe in something like that. The Greek Gods were nothing but Legend, made up because humans didn't understand how the world worked. They don't exist, only one God exists, and sometimes I wonder what he's doing."  
  
"A fair point Mr Sawyer, but in time you will see that there are some things that man understood extremely well. However I am in no mood to get into heavy religious discussions. I shall let you believe what you believe, but when you see what this girl can do I suspect you may want to find some way of editing it into your view of the world."  
  
They lapsed back into their uneasy silence, neither wishing to continue their conversation. Tom thought the whole idea was quite ridiculous. He had been brought up as a Christian and ideas like that were just plain wrong. Greek Gods, their descendants, it confirmed his suspicions that he was in a car with a sane mad man. They were the most dangerous kind of mad men, they were so unpredictable as you had great difficulty deciding what they would do next.  
  
Quite suddenly there was a rap on the bonnet, and the car was brought to a grinding holt. They were still in the mountain country and there was no way they could have reached Romania that quickly. Judging from the position of the sun in the sky it was about mid afternoon. He peered out of the window trying to fathom what was going on. Really Schlasser had told him a whole lot of not very much. Tom didn't really know where he was, how Moriarty was suddenly breathing, or why this man was planning to blow up the Palace of Versailles. Well actually no, that wasn't true, Schlasser had given him those answer, it was just Tom's mind hadn't managed to fit them all together in a logical pattern yet.  
  
He gave a start as Viscien yanked open the door, "Schlasser we have lost you fifty pence."  
  
There really wasn't an easy way to describe Tom's reaction to that statement. It was a mix of disbelief, exasperation, and despair. But there was something else there as well. He felt like he should be laughing, the whole lot of them were completely mad. What fifty pence were they on about?  
  
"Does it look like my bulb?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Damn it."  
  
Well at least Schlasser seemed to understand what on earth they were on about. It hadn't occurred to him that they may have been talking in code and the randomness of what had just been muttered perplexed him. Looking between the Austrian Aristocrat and his deputy he raised his eyebrows. He was also strongly tempted to roll his eyes, but there was something about the look of seriousness on Schlasser's face that restrained him. Something had gone wrong. Either that or they really had lost his fifty pence. But why on Earth would Schlasser have, or care about a fifty pence?  
  
The conversation meanwhile had passed by Tom. "Are you absolutely sure?"  
  
"It has been reported by three parties, they came one after another like lightening. They are here."  
  
"We underestimated the fifty pence then? It seems the head of the Queen can be most slippery."  
  
"Not slippery, good at planning travel routes."  
  
Schlasser was shaking his head in disbelief. "There is nothing for it, if fortune does not favour us we must weather a luckless period. Tell the drivers to carry on, we have delayed too much already."  
  
Viscien saluted smartly and then closed the door firmly behind himself. There was the muffled sound of orders being shouted and then the engine of the car started up once more. Tom began to look sullenly out of the window again, he felt alone and thoroughly lost. He didn't cope well with being thrust into the position of Damsel in Distress. He'd always played the role of hero, ever since he was a boy. Schlasser had been muttering to himself for a few minutes in a continuous and jumbled lot of German. He glanced across at Tom and quite suddenly announced, "We will be arriving in Romania within the hour. You'll be relieved to know your friends are on their way."  
  
Mina blinked slightly as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. They had been cooped up in Nemo's ship for the better part of two days. They had only surfaced briefly to take on board supplies and charge up Nemo's ship. Even then Nemo had been extremely tight with time. Mina wasn't complaining mind you, she was terribly worried about Tom. He was one of the only people who could work up her compassionate streak. She normally liked to pretend she didn't have one but more often than not it shone through. She adjusted her veil slightly and then descended the gang plank in her usual regal manner.  
  
Nemo had disembarked about half an hour ago and was still locked in busy conversation with a crew member. They both were holding a large piece of paper which Mina presumed was the plans or design for Nemo's new machine. Nemo by trait was generally secretive and he had refused point blank to reveal what it was to anyone except those involved in building it. His paranoia about his technology had only been increased by the encounter with Moriarty which involved the hijacking and copying of his technology. Mina knew he'd never forgive Dorian for that insult, especially not after the hospitality he'd shown the Immortal. Although, Dorian wasn't really an immortal any more; being dead and all. A tiny smirk of triumph flickered over her face as she remembered her victory over him. The ultimate proof that women were as good as, if not better than men. Even Immortal men.  
  
She finally reached the dock and politely hovered near Nemo and waited for what she estimated was a good five minutes. There was no sign of the others and it looked like Nemo was getting very caught up in the discussion about his machine. Mina spotted the word aviation and turbulence quite a lot and was beginning to form a clear picture of what Nemo had built. It was interesting that it wasn't entirely his own invention this time, but still. A man can only have a certain amount of ingenuity. At least Nemo put it to some use. She waited another few seconds and then gently cleared her throat. It had no apparent effect so she tried it again, this time using a little more direct force.  
  
By now she could hear the voices of the others, they were obviously ready to carry on with the journey. Nemo however was still deeply engrossed in some sort of discussion about Wing measurements and to be honest Mina was getting more than a little irritated. She looked around aimlessly hoping the movement would release some frustration and then quite audibly and pointedly exclaimed, "Why, Captain Nemo I do believe the others are coming. I think it would be a good idea if you explained the next stage of the journey. You know; now perhaps? Now would be good."  
  
Nemo clenched visibly when Mina's voice drove between him and his plans for improvements but quickly prioritised. Tom was in danger, and once more it was up to him to make sure that he could transport everyone there safely. It sounded slightly clichéd when you thought about it like that, but then again someone had to do it. At least he would do it properly. "Mrs Harker, forgive me. I didn't see you waiting there; and my," he caught sight of Jekyll, Denethy, and Skinner (well his coat) emerging from the depths of the ship. "What wonderful timing gentlemen. I was just about to explain to Mrs Harker our next course and unveil our new mode of transport."  
  
He gave a curt nod to his assistant who had been standing to one side, now with the roll of paper neatly rolled up in his hand. He stood to attention sharply in response and then rushed off inside the ship. Nemo looked after him approvingly and then began to march down off the dock to where a car was waiting. The others watch him for a few seconds and then followed quickly, they knew the routine. Nemo would have taken care of most things. He would make sure that there was something waiting to transport them anywhere, and usually he'd make sure that it would work. Mina felt that that particular trait was extremely rare but still useful.  
  
Without a word they all piled in the car. Mina noticed with some mild amusement that Denethy was still carrying a suitcase. He was probably one of those people who felt that they had to pack for everything. Mina didn't share the same material restrictions. She was fairly above all that now. Slowly she was beginning to embrace the darker side of her nature; but only embrace it. She didn't feel any need to fight because it wasn't a threat. The limitations of her vampirism while her weakness allowed her to keep her personality and not loose herself to the dark. She had only ever come close to that situation twice, once with the man who gave her the bite. And once with another man; who's intoxication had been so strong she'd had no power to resist. He had called to the surface everything in her that she wanted to compress and hide. It hadn't been something unpleasant, but it hadn't been her. Thanks to him she had nearly lost herself. Her musings in her memory were shattered when Nemo at last began to outline the final stages of their trip in more detail.  
  
"During the past four years I had to have something to occupy myself with. The war was of course a terrible tragedy but it brought to light a new mode of transport and a new area of technology I had not thought about. Aeroplanes and flight. Many times man has tried to fly, but now he thinks he has perfected it. It isn't the case I have perfected it; not man as a whole just me. Taking into theory most of what I know involving science I have been able to create a stable aircraft capable of carry several passengers that needs minimal refuelling. It is a clever and sleek design.  
  
"Well it would have to be," chimed in Skinner with a terribly unhelpful remark, "You've spent four years working on it? I'm expecting a miracle from you Nemo; you've got an awful lot to live up to."  
  
Mina gave an audible sigh and Skinner picked up the hint. He gave Nemo a cocky little smile and then settled back down into his seat. He wasn't really in the mood to fight with Mina. He didn't really fight with Mina properly; it wasn't that they got angry with each other. He just found a twisted delight in working out all the ways to annoy her and then making the information widely known. It had endeared him to Mina, but as he knew it wasn't the way he wanted.  
  
"The air craft is just outside of the town we'll be there within twenty five minutes. I of course knew that there was always the possibility of building a flying contraption, but having heard of some of the tragic failures in that area or work I decided to bide my time and wait for some advancement to be made not only by myself but also by others. I have of course managed to design a plane that is capable of carrying about 10 people. There are 5 members of the League, one mechanic of mine is added to the number and then the rest are supplies. I've learnt during this that all the key in the design begins with the development of the..."  
  
Jekyll broke across Nemo with a stunningly rare display of decisive action, "Perhaps it would be slightly more appropriate for you to inform us more on the final stages of the journey. You know, Denethy is new and all and he isn't as used to the routine as us." Denethy cringed slightly at the mention of his name is such a negative light but let it pass. Whatever Jekyll felt was best. Dr Jekyll meanwhile had added on another question to his speech, "Also what's going to happen to the Nautilus? You can just leave it here can you? Are you?"  
  
"Of course doctor; forgive me. Sometimes my machines tend to fill up my conscious thoughts. Yes...the journey. Now we'll fly out over Yugoslavia as the crow flies. That will be the quickest route. There is a town about half way across where I will have supplies waiting. We'll stop at the town named Tuzla and then carry on until we get to a safe landing area just outside of Lugoj, that was the town that coincided with the co-ordinates. From there we'll just have to construct a search of the town for Tom as we've had no more details as to his whereabouts. Of course I won't leave the Nautilus here, there is a complex river system that can take the ship to just outside of Lugoj. The River Timsul cuts through the west side of the town. We will reach Lugoj by tonight, they will be there by noon tomorrow."  
  
Each member nodded or gave some sign of approval to Nemo's plan. He had it all well thought out. Mina thought they should have a map of the city with them so that they could plot out the search while on the plane but Nemo told her that she would need to be strapped into so that destroyed any hope of planning using a map but the could still consider various kinds of targets. Maybe based on the sorts of things they had encountered before.  
  
While Mina began to think about the location and various strategies of attack Skinner asked another question. "Nemo, you know you've said that you've built this thing and all."  
  
"Yes Mr Skinner."  
  
"Well, you've never actually mentioned that you've been up in it. So err...if you don't mind me asking.. How in hell do you know it's going to work?"  
  
All eyes were on Nemo now. They were fine with the Nautilus they all knew that Nemo had had his ship in operation for years and that the only problems he'd ever had with it were the ones caused by Dorian. However none of them were too keen to go up in a new style of aeroplane that hadn't been tested before. Actually that meant they might not have to go up after all...it could be a complete disaster and not even leave the ground.  
  
"I don't Mr Skinner I'm taking a gamble."  
  
"Well for you sakes Nemo," replied Mina coldly, "you had better hope it does work. Over twelve hours with Skinner in the air will get on my nerves but make me spend another day with him on that ship of yours and there be some trouble."  
  
"Come on Mina," cooed Skinner flashing her a grin, "You know you love me really."  
  
All around the house there was quiet, however the situation appeared very different to Rosaline. Her day had begun normally enough, she had felt well enough to get up but the dreams had never quite left her mind. During the morning she had begun to feel a little off balance and felt that maybe she hadn't been well enough to get up after all. She had decided to have a quiet sit down and then try and carry on. It had worked for a while, but then there was a never ending buzzing in her ears. She had double checked the wireless and had found that it wasn't interference there but what ever it was she couldn't get rid of.  
  
Around lunch time she had started to feel feverish again and asked her Mistress for a lie down. She agreed and Rosaline had tried to sleep for a couple of hours. Everything about her seemed to be warping though. She had lain down and whenever she opened her eyes the room twisted and spun and whenever she shut them a mocking face was there. A face she knew too well for her own comfort. She had promised him she would try and free him. She had meant to keep her promise but she didn't know how she was supposed to do it.  
  
The more she thought about him the clearer the buzzing became. She focused on his name in her mind and clearly saw the words, "Free me Rosaline," streaming everywhere over everything. They were inescapable. She felt so over come by the pressure of his desire that she wilted into a light dream like state. Not sleeping...but still capable of dreaming. He was pushing her, crying out to her to take the portrait and wish him free.  
  
By the time she had awoken it was near dusk and her head felt like lead. There were no coherent thoughts in her mind anywhere and the confusion was so powerful she felt she needed to choke. There was one wish...one dream...an obsession running through her. A past and memories were running through her mind but they weren't her own. His soul was twisted with agony, greed, revenge but most of all of a betrayal that ran so deep he could not deny it anywhere he turned. The mixture of emotions were leaving Rosaline agonised and she felt like she was sinking in to despair.  
  
She hadn't emerged from her room, and could not rise from the bed. Everything seemed to be screaming at her to try and wake him. Everything was closing in on her in an over powering bout of claustrophobia. Her breathing was becoming laboured and shallow and her skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. She couldn't get a firm grip on anything and when she reached for her bible it propelled itself from her grip. The final sign that she was Damned. The tears by now were flowing freely down her face and the blurred vision caused by them only distorted the room even more.  
  
In despair she pulled at her hair and pressed her hands to her face. The voices wouldn't stop, they kept on at her. Calling to her, trying to make her compel with their wishes. The more she fought the more pressure she felt. Her sobs were racking through her loudly and every where effects of immense power could be seen. The windows had flown open, and the curtains were billowing out of them in an invisible breeze. The door was slamming shut and then being ripped open and all the while Rosaline rolled around on her bed shaking her head madly, trying to dislodge the face and voice of Dorian.  
  
Over the racket it had been impossible to make out the sound of running feet but all of a sudden the misshapen figure of her mistress was there. Rosaline became aware of her presence not by seeing her but by the familiar scent of Lavender that seemed to surround her. It seemed also that the spirit who was tormenting her had picked up on her mistress' presence for all of a sudden she felt no will to cry. She lay there quite still, breathing in and out. The mistress looked around and the shattered remnants of the room in amazement. She seemed unable to form any words and instead just gaped at the girl who was curled up on her bed. Rosaline's head was shaking madly, to the Mistress it seemed that she was fighting with someone and from the looks of things she had. She wondered whether someone had broken in but the destruction didn't seem normal. A thief would have ransacked everywhere and yet the disturbances were just in set points.  
  
Her focus was brought back on to Rosaline when she began to moan to herself, "No! No! I can't! No! Don't make me try!" Her voice raised in pitch as she carried on and by the end she was softly screaming to herself. Her body had gone taut and pale and her whole form was shaking in an uncontrollable manner. To Rosaline it seemed that Dorian was there watching her everywhere. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move without seeing him. With out feeling a pang of guilt for not freeing him from the confines of limbo. He watched her, and then giving her the trade marked smirk murmured softly, "That's it Rosaline. I'm leaving you now. I'm leaving you alone."  
  
The wail of inhuman grief that came from Rosaline's mouth made her Mistress jump back with fear. The girl threw out her limbs so she was stretched out once more, her shape writhed and her sobs started up once more. Then without any warning she leapt from the mattress and pushing past her mistress she ran down the hall. She paused only briefly, a moment of calm in her storm of madness but then wildly tore the picture of the young man off the wall. She clutched at it so hard that her knuckles turned white and she spun around desperately looking for something. It turned out she was looking for somewhere to run because her eyes settled on the bathroom and she dashed into the tiled room and slammed the door behind her. There was the clicking sound of a lock and then silence.  
  
Her Mistress could only look down the hall after her. She was in a state of disbelief. What an earth was wrong with the girl? She hadn't picked up some sort of extreme illness that was affecting her mind had she? That would be awful. She waited a few more moments and then decided she really had to do something. Briskly she strode down the corridor after Rosaline and pausing outside the bathroom door opposite the stairs turned and knocked smartly on the door. "Rosaline if you don't come out of there and tell me what's wrong in 5 seconds." She felt that the threat would be ominous enough, but there was still no sound. The mistress was starting to feel slightly panicky now, for her own safety as well as Rosaline's. She looked at the door hopelessly for a moment almost willing it to fall down. Sadly though, it didn't.  
  
"Rosaline, if you do not open this door I'm going to have to go and get some help."  
  
There was the click of something from behind her , and a heavily accented voice replied, "I'm afraid my dear I can not allow you to do that."  
  
I return!!! Gosh it's been so long since I've updated and I'm sorry. But with exams and school stuff and everything. Well enough said. Now the traditional Authors Notes.  
  
As you've probably guessed I haven't been able to find a suitable name for the Mistress of the house yet. I'm was considering working something else into her but at the moment I can see how it will work. So I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for that.  
  
The timing has now furthered to the night of the third day so the League will very soon meet up with Schlasser and next chapter Dorian arrives! I promise a nice exciting piece of fighting next chapter though you may have to wait with me a while so that I can plot it out decently.  
  
Other than that I just need to say I'm going with the Dorian picture and description from the film not the book. In the book the picture is full length and Dorian is blonde but this is a fanfic of the film and not the book so it'll be good ol' Stuart Townsend Dorian that I'll be writing.  
  
Thank you to all my reviewers and I hope some of you will find your way back here and that I'll be able to kick start this again.  
  
All the best  
  
Emmy 


	8. Chapter Seven

**The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Resurrected**

**Chapter Seven – Rites Of Ignorance**

The figure lay huddled at the base of the door, fingers scrabbling at the portrait of her tormentor. Sobbing with a mind in a state close to hysteria, Rosaline wailed to him, "I cannot let you out into this house! I cannot do it!" She paused briefly; just enough time to take in a gasping but needed breath before continuing to whisper to him, "Do not ask it of me. Please do not. Do not ask it of me." The words faded into a chant; her own mantra to try and fight the power he'd taken on her mind by inserting himself in her dreams, learning all there was to know then finally turning it against her.

But through it all the woman still saw him as a good man. Not a bad one. The taste of the betrayal he had shown her, that time when he felt his heart shatter had shown her he was capable of care. Her compassion didn't throw him off though; it just incited him. He knew she was cracking under the careful care he had taken to destroy her fragile mind. They were all waiting for her famed ancestor to step in from the heavens, waiting for him to give Dorian the freedom that he so desperately craved. His pathway wasn't going in the right direction though; he could taste the regret boiling out of her. Regret at ever having gazed upon his face. And no one should feel sorrow for doing a thing like that. Not with a face like his.

Softly he laid a film over her eyes, using the sheer will power that had made his soul cling to his picture to charm her, "Oh there, there, my dearest. Don't cry so loud. It'll be alright. I'm still here for you. I always will we if you'll just help me get out. Heal my soul and body as one. Can't you bring yourself to do that for me? If you asked the same thing of me I wouldn't even blink before I complied. With every moment you hesitate your mistress could be in more danger!" He placed a false sense of exclamation on his final word. In truth he knew exactly what kind of danger her Mistress would be in.

"What do you mean?" questioned his prey, suddenly more aware and less wail-some.

"Listen," he offered with a tone of one who was chiding.

From beyond the door voices filtered through. Strange voices. Many voices. Men's voices. A fear gripped the heart of her stomach like a snake, causing her to writhe and squirm in horror. They couldn't have got in. They shouldn't have gotten in! She pushed his devilish portrait from her lap, trembling from head to foot. "You promised," she sniffed, "You promised me she'd not get hurt. You made me believe you. But you're a trick of Satan. A liar! Those men outside are here because of what you've done."

'Damn it,' was all he could think. Why was her mind so resilient to him? He was so sure she'd been under his spell before; completely ensnared by the beauty of his face. For the first time since he'd begun to play with her Dorian found himself floundering. This should not have been a problem. No woman should cause him to miss his footing. No mere woman. (With the exception of Mina, but she was in a class all of her own.) Pulling forwards his final memory; the man slammed it onto Rosaline's mind.

"You see?" he hissed, as she watched with a terrified expression the way his face contorted as his flesh began to dissolve even flake away. "Do you see the pain they put me through? I was innocent. I was forced, but they wouldn't listen. They have no mercy and they'll have no mercy for your Mistress now. She'll be killed by them unless you let me out. Those men you here outside, you hear them, don't you."

"I do. I do!" cried the woman as she flinched away from the pictures of his rotting face.

"Those men are here to destroy me once and for all and they would kill anyone who stood in their way. Let me out and pray that it isn't too late for the Lady you work for."

From the air around her his dark eyes watched, observed her bite her lip till it bleed as he replayed and replayed his final scream before his vocal chords were destroyed. Made her listen to it, made her see the last flickers of dying life in his eyes. In short Dorian led her fear of danger to her mistress to escalate into a fear for herself, but also a fear for him. He'd turned her logic against her. How was she to know that Hyde would be most likely not to harm her? That Skinner would be more likely to woo her than stab her? She didn't. That was why he was now a firm believer that knowledge was power.

"So will you free me, Rosaline, my darling? Will you let me out to save you? Will you let me out to save myself? I couldn't bear to go through that pain again or to see you hurt… Please do," had his face been a physical piece of flesh the mocking expression would have contradicted the soothing, placating tone that he used now. Due to her comparative innocence, however, she could do nothing but live by his words.

Rising up on shaking legs, the dark haired girl picked up the fallen portrait. The face was so perfect, but then again, so had the devil's face been before he had fallen. You could not judge on facial features – simultaneously, as though he had sensed her starting to reject him again, his spirit was there. Or just a draught of air the blew over her lips, bringing back sharply that memory of the dream in which she had first met him. That first intoxicating kiss. She surely could not let that one be her last.

Leaning the painting against the wall behind the sink, she stood black and let the purpose wash over her. He needed to be whole. He needed to be healed. That power that she felt was more a curse than a blessing, that had led for her to flee from her home town and hide, was finally going to be of some use. Perhaps this was a message from the God in which she believed and trusted? That at last he had made clear her purpose. It all helped focus her mind. Slowly, very slowly Rosaline let down the block she had built up to ignore that flicker of power that always whispered to her, wanting to be allowed to use her body to do its terrible magic. Famished by denial when the chance came it rushed through her, causing her to fall to her knees, mouth opened in a silent scream.

Power as she'd never known coursed through her, opening every sensor in her mind. Everything around became clearer, suddenly she was able to sense through her shoes the gentle groves of the cold tiles, the lights that had before seemed dim now flickered with star like vibrancy. The heightened awareness was projected into his cursed picture. Even whilst she was connected effectively to the heaves and hundreds of long deceased relations, Rosaline was able to see him smile. Before her began to form a figure, his soul plucked from the torturous limbo realm where it had remained for twenty years or more was beginning to be attached to a body. Not his old one though, for that was only dust in a castle in frozen lands. No, a new body, a better body. Every non-existent blemish gone but perhaps more importantly: he had a cleansed soul.

Rosaline began to feel after a few more minutes that if any more of this unearthly power was allowed to surge through her head she would explode or lose her sanity. So using sheer strength of will that laid dormant most other times, she closed back up the barrier she had made; ignored the heritage call within her once more. In effect went back to denying part of who she was.

Once the link was broken though, her support was gone and she fell backwards limply. Every time she experienced this she came away exhausted. Perhaps a limit on her, that if she used the gift too much she would eventually become consumed by it? The hands that caught her before she tumbled to the ground earned one horrified look before she collapsed into a dead faint.

When the Mistress of the house had heard a voice behind her she had known instantly that her life was at stake. The peculiar thing was, however, that it wasn't the gun was worrying her enough to make her shudder involuntarily. The man – whoever he was – appeared to think that his presence had achieved her movement, or his threat at any rate. He had no idea. "Turn around," he'd ordered with that same calmly infuriating tone.

"I cannot comply with what you ask."

The Mistress could taste the sneer on his reply, "And why is that, my Lady? Do you perhaps want me to shoot you?" A general consensus of snickers followed his lame remark; their stupid laughter had revealed to her that there was more than one present. Paling, she raised her hands so that they gleamed white in the moonlight broken up by the storm clouds.

"Gentlemen, I welcome you to the house or retrospective tower of the 'Lady of Shalott.'"

A mumbling took place behind her and finally one of them asked in a dull voice that led her to believe him stupid, "I thought a shallot was an onion?" Someone seemed to have cuffed him around the head as there was a short cry of surprise which was then followed by a series of mutterings. Clearly that man would be receiving some education in the ways of literature.

"You are aware of the poem about me, I trust? I've heard it's rather famous. Do you know that it cursed me? It means I cannot look upon the face of a man without being subjected to terrible sickness for months. So honestly, you might as well put your gun away for I am no threat to you."

Curiously the man directly behind her asked, "How do I know this is true? You could just be making it all up to by time to think of a way to escape from us…" The man I have introduced to you under the title Viscien trailed off, feeling that his master had rather thrown him in at the deep end with this one. Surely if Ussell had know of her peculiar…condition they would have been informed. Everything in this plan relied on the predictability of those they manipulated. That American spy had been a perfect example of that.

"I'm not sure I can prove it to you. But that poem was published in 1842 – since the whole world knew it I have no aged a day physically. I remain as perfect as I did the day I betrayed the heart of the poet. For what it's worth though I don't think he meant to cause me this pain. But proof? Let's see – you may check all my records and you will find no mention of a male servant, I never go out of this house. Indeed many people in the village believe me to have died and that the inhabitant of this house is a younger relation of mine."

A short silence followed, not due to hard thought, however, but due to the fact that inside the bathroom a wind had begun to pick up; a wind that had nothing to do with the over lying storm. "Look," the newly announced 'Lady of Shalott' offered, "I do not want to endanger Rosaline, and I assume that is why you have come. Something to do with that oddity of a portrait as well I expect. If it's your intent to leave her be for the moment allow me to blindfold myself and then I will follow you."

"How do you know," rasped out Viscien, "That harm will not come to you whilst under a blindfold? How can you trust a man who is currently pointing a gun at your head to keep you safe while your sight is impaired due to this…poem or whatever it is you say has condemned you?"

The blonde woman gave a dignified shrug, "I don't. I will just make sure that if you try to kill me I will scream for a very long time, very loudly and whatever magic it is my servant is currently performing for you in there I'm sure hearing my final moments would upset it. Do you not think?" Her question echoed away after another hysterical sob from within the concealed room and a flash of lightening. The mistress found herself counting under her breath, "One…two…three…four…five-" Then the rumble of thunder like the hooves of a charging stallion. Thirty Five miles away was the storm. It would be upon them in all its might in no time.

"Let her blindfold herself if she wants. We've been ordered to keep her alive. She's not actually supposed to be involved with this at all. The Master has a peculiar aficionado for keeping alive those he does not directly target as victims. This might just be your lucky day." Letting out a shaky breath that she'd not even been aware she'd been holding, the Lady pulled out a long handkerchief that she kept with her continuously. Sooner or later there was going to be a confrontation like this so preparation had to be the key to her survival. Knotting it neatly around her head, she turned and safe for the moment held out her hand so as to be led wherever they wished her to be placed.

A tentative pair of fingers hooked around her own, not the kind of grip she'd been expecting. Rough and tight was perhaps a more accurate picture to coincide with the profile she had built up of this man. Still, at least they had allowed her to put on the blindfold. It was a mercy. A gift from the heavens. As they began to walk she felt the pain of the poet heavy on her heart. Surely she had received enough punishment for what she had done? This was not her past sins coming back to haunt her…so who's it? What had Rosaline done? Had she become involved with something? Her sickness had been frightening. And that portrait. Questions whirled around the woman's normally calm mind. With it was a bumpy undercurrent of fear. Surrounded by men, many men and all that had to happen was the slip of fabric. She tensed involuntarily and the hand that held her own shuddered.

Moving down the stairs the silence became unbearable, not that it was truly quiet. Thunder rolled around in the heavens above, causing the earth to groan and the trees to scream their pain, but the silence between them as human beings. The comfort she gained from communication, "Do you have a name?" asked the Lady finally, counting the steps under her breath as they went in order to know what to expect the floor.

A pause, "My name is Viscien. I work for a man and his own work has led him here."

"To my servant?"

"Yes."

"Is she in danger?"

"Maybe." That was truly an unsatisfactory answer. The fact was Rosaline was far too timid a girl to have really gotten herself into trouble. She didn't associate with anyone very much, let alone groups of men, which made her, come to an all the more disturbing conclusion. This had all been premeditated. They'd been tracked down and watched, her mouth puckered with dislike. It reminded her of her days when she was high society; the plotting and talking behind each other's back that happened there were dreadful.

"You're going to have to sit in this chair," he pushed her down roughly. "We're expecting visitors and you're one of the reasons there's not going to be any exchange of bullets.

"Bullets?" she repeated worriedly. What on earth was going on? During an absence in the noise created by the weather the Lady picked up that the bathroom door upstairs had stopped rattling as violently as it had been. The stillness was unnerving, men stood together, breathing heavily and worriedly. They'd heard the stories of what the people who were coming were capable of. Many of them felt that tonight could well be their last. As if this had been broadcast loudly over a wireless, one of them suddenly felt their nerve break. The unfortunate dropped his gun and the mistress heard his heavy footsteps fade; he was racing for the door. A second passed and then the crystal roar of broken glass, someone was screaming, screaming so very loudly. Abruptly it stopped. Cut off. Heavy footsteps crunched over the fallen shards, coming closer and closer. Fingers fiddled with triggers, feet had moved off the glass. Silent shadows slithered forwards; forwards to the room were they could see the woman bathed in moonlight with a blindfold over her eyes.

The nerves and the anticipation built and built, compressed until the breath choked from the blonde woman's throat. An ear splitting cry that sounded like an animal filled their ears and a flood of tiny movements, tiny creatures. They batted her face but she wasn't the prime target. The screams of pain were all around now.

Viscien watched with a tight smile as the huge, grotesque man exploded through the door. The bats meant the woman had also joined them. All they were waiting for was the other man and the Captain. Speaking of which that very mad has just emerged through the door way, sporting a very large, very cruel looking blade. The second in command narrowed his eyes. The bats were no problem to him, the garlic he was wearing in place of after shave saw to that…and the creature and the captain found no interest in a man standing unmoving behind an armchair. They were only interested in the weak back up. He let the Hyde pick two men up by the scruff of their neck and watched with mild interest as the slammed into a wall, taking away some of the plaster with them. Viscien then decided that enough was enough.

Reaching down behind the chair, he grabbed a limp arm belonging to an unconscious body and dragged it to its feet. Signalling to a man to come and help him together they supported the body while Viscien raised his arm high and fired a single shot. Shouting about the noise he proclaimed, "I will ask for quiet and stillness only once! The next bullet," here he paused to check he had their attention, which he did, "Will go into his head," they all stopped, back up men included to look at the unconscious spy draped in their arms. Mina let out a hiss of anger, her ringlets fanning out to frame her face with a preternatural wind; Viscien threw up his hand, "Don't even think about rushing me, Lady. The bullet will be lodged in his brain before you kill me." The barrel of the gun pointed firmly at Tom's temple.

No one said anything about Skinner. He was their last hope. Maybe the lunatic with the gun didn't know about their invisible ally. The man ran his tongue nervously along his bottom lip, "I'm going to count to three, and if that man, the one you can't see doesn't appear I'm also going to shoot him." No one dared move, no one dared breath. All were waiting for Skinner to either pretend he wasn't there or actually show where he was. "One," came the first clear count from Viscien. Pushing the barrel harder into the American's head. It all seemed a little unfair, really, if you knew that the butt of this gun had been responsible for knocking Tom out in the first place. It felt like he was getting the raw end of the deal.

"Two," Nemo and Mina exchanged glances. Hyde's head had begun to bead with sweat, an early sign that he would begin to change soon. The ripped shirt upon his back rippled as he shifted, feeling Jekyll's tension deep inside, smelling the fear that each man exhaled. Viscien opened his mouth, but the words that came out didn't not come from his throat. "Alright, alright already. Put that gun down before youshot yourself and upset us all terribly." The man felt he hadn't been quite fully prepared for this job as a face hung in mid air before him, dusted with powder from the crushed wall plaster. Skinner smiled at the expression, gave him a wink and chided, "I'll leave the rest to you imagination. Although, I'd be grateful if this didn't take too long. The wind is rather strong."

"It would seem that I now hold your fate in my hands."

"No, you're not paying attention" came the Southern accented voice from below him, "You've got me in your hands."

Viscien frowned, shoving the recently awoken boy into the hands of the guard and instructing him in German to keep the gun pressed to his head, the man gestured in welcome, "I presume I have the dubious honour of addressing the remaining crew of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?" Nemo sheathed his sword with a tremor of unease, answering for all of them with a nod. "My master would bid me greet you in his place, I warn you, anyone of you moves too quickly I will shoot the woman in front of me and my counter part will shoot your pet spy." He felt that the threat needed to be kept high in the stake of things. His master's informant had said this group were prone to rash behaviour. Now he understood why. They weren't human. Not really. Except for the spy, he was all too human.

"The fact is you are in my master's way. His interest is not with you and you were only involved in this due to the whim of my master's partner. You have played along with us very nicely, he congratulates you-"

Finally Mina had had just about enough of the condescending tone in the man's voice, "If you don't have something that will be of use to us, do not bother talking. We have come for Sawyer, if you give him to us, we will go." Skinner who'd moved over to her side gave her a little nudge and inclined his head towards the woman sitting, in a state of great innocence as she did not realise there was currently a gun pointing at her head. "And her, we want her too."

"I'm sure you do," answered Viscien comfortingly, "But that's not how it's going to work out." He paused, kept the gun trained on the victim in front of him and pulled out a grubby piece of paper, "If you want to keep both of these lovely people alive, you're going to do exactly what I say. First, we wait for Mr Jekyll to join us." Eyes swivelled to the conspicuous body of Mr Hyde. His face had gone pink and the muscles in his face were straining. It looked like time had just about run out anyway. Right on the fizzing began, Viscien barked out more orders to his men to stay watchful of their captives rather than get distracted by a monster. "I've been led to understand that this transformation will take a few minutes. You do not have a few minutes; you'll all listen now. The animal," he gestured to the grotesque half-man half-giant, "stays here. He does not try to follow us. As does Captain Nemo, oh," he paused once more, giving the exotic and frightening man a panicked glance, as though he did not want to reveal what was coming next, "My master thanks you for the loan of your magnificent machine. He says it will make skirting the outer edges of Europe most pleasant."

Captain Nemo's face contorted, his hand grasped for his awful sword but a limp hand staid his anger. Jekyll stood there, looking weak and ill. "It's not worth getting Tom killed. We'll kill them all in the end though." Nemo's dark eyes smouldered, but he nodded the barest of nods. Viscien continued, reminding himself that his master's sense for the dramatic was not very intelligent and should be avoided if possible in the future.

"The vampire comes, as does the agent and the Invisible Man. You are all too much of a risk for us to just leave behind. Well," he gave Sawyer an unforgiving kick, "I wouldn't call you a risk. Unless we count your ineptitude and stupidity. However, in a minute our associate will be bringing himself and the last person we need and them we'll be off. What you do next is up to you…" he trailed off, looking at them, but not entirely believing what he was seeing. They were frightening, no doubt about it. He was sure if they hadn't had Sawyer to barter with they'd all be dead by now. Then again, if the spy had never been involved then they wouldn't have been either. It was probably better that they were prepared for them.

"I'm sorry," grinned Skinner's ghostly face, "but do you honestly think we're going to let you just walk out of here with our companions? Do you think our dear Mrs Harker's going to just let you lead her out of here as a prisoner? Gentlemen, give the Lady some credit. She has honour to maintain, you know."

"If she wants to maintain her pretty boy's life then she'd better do it and with no funny stuff either. Tie them up," he instructed finally, "Tie up the ones who aren't coming with us." The men that were left, about fifteen in total, were anything but happy about this task. "I said tie them up. Who's vindictiveness do you fear more, Ussell's or an over dressed sailor and a wimp of a scientist. That's all they are when they're out of their elements, boys, now get to it." It was flexed fists all around as men approached with their thin cords. Wrists were bound behind backs, insults traded and the whole time barrels of guns were pressed into temples, safety's kept off and a thin film of sweat beaded on Viscien's brow. Talk about pressure.

Jekyll, taking the comment about being a wimp rather badly, felt that they should at least fling some sort of final trump card at the arrogant man who so easily threatened the life around him, "We know about the plans to raise Moriarty." Heads turned towards the shabby scientist, who by now had been reduced to holding what was left of his trousers up by clenching his knees together very tightly. The accented man knitted his eyebrows together in confusion, "Moriarty? I can't say that I recognise the name. Clearly you are not as big a threat as my master thought."

"And who is your precious master?" snapped Mina, trying to hold on to the rage that bled her vampiric side to her outer body. (It wasn't working; the curls had collapsed, her fangs retreated, her eyes gradually faded to their original colour.) "We've heard so much about him and received his greetings, now give us his full name."

"You will meet him soon enough, woman," the tone in that address spoke his contempt for her. It wasn't a contempt for women in general, indeed, he'd treated the lady of this house most kindly all things considered, but it was contempt reserved to this female out of place. She was floundering in a very masculine world. Better to be a victim than to fight against the prejudice, or so he thought.

"His name," she repeated heatedly.

"Schlasser Ussell."

No comprehension dawned in the eyes of any League member, only Sawyer had some sort of personal reaction. Somethingalong the lines of, 'Oh yes, I remember, that creepy eccentric I was in the car with before he beckoned me out in order for me to be smashed into oblivion for a second time. Yeah, I _definitely_ remember him.'

All fell silent after that, processing what they now knew. No Moriarty. No villain from any of their sordid pasts. Sawyer was alive. But for how much longer? Only the woman on the chair had remained completely still, fear had gripped her, suffocated her as she heard the screams and the explosions of her home being destroyed and invaded. It pained her. So did her confusion over Rosaline and deep down her concerns for her personal safety. In order to escape, she'd taken to counting the seconds between the lightening flashes that illuminated the violent silhouettes and the thick thunder. It was now right over head.

Something moved at the top of the staircase. Mina sensed it first and the others followed her gaze. There striding down with similar nonchalance to one breezing down a pleasantly busy street stood the dark, suited figure of Dorian Gray. "It all seems rather dead down here," he smiled, "Did I miss the party?"

**Author's Notes**

How long has this been! I can't pinpoint a reason why I've restarted this. I can't promise that I will finish. All I can promise is my writing skills have improved since I first started and I will be working on improving previous chapters as well as writing new ones.

Please Read and Review. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

Emerald3


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